Meaning
by Aphrodite Roslin
Summary: All House ever wanted was meaning. Without it, what was the point? HW slash. Rating changed to M for Chapter 16!
1. I think we should do it

Exactly eighteen days, eleven hours, and twenty-three minutes after he was shot Gregory House asked James Wilson on a date. He had been planning it ever since he awoke from his two week long ketamine induced coma to find the other man slumped over in the uncomfortable visitor's chair next to the bed. James' head was resting on his left arm beside House's shoulder, snoring softly, and his right hand was holding House's, his grip firm even in sleep. House grinned to himself and silently thanked the universe that it wasn't Cameron this time. Waking up to her childlike concern and unrequited emotional attraction once was enough. He could see Wilson's sleeping face clearly as the young man slept on, and the image of himself letting his anger drive him to personally make Wilson bleed flashed through his mind. His free hand then seemed to take on a life of its own as it snaked across his own body to touch his only friend's face. His fingers caressed the skin on the left side on James' top lip, needing the reassurance that none of it was real; that it was, in fact, all a dream.

Wilson made a soft noise of contentment and leaned into House's touch. The sensation this simple movement provoked startled House out of his short trance and his arm fell immediately back down to his side. Wilson, however, continued to stir as he attempted to awaken. Settling himself down, House squeezed the other man's hand. Hard.

"Ah!" Wilson yelped as he sat up straight and attempted to pull his hand free from the unaccommodating vice.

"Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty," House quipped in a singsong voice. The disoriented Wilson rubbed his sleep-filled eyes with his free hand and shook his head slightly as he attempted to remember just where the hell he was. Once his vision had cleared, he looked down at the man lying in the bed next to him, his radiant brown eyes widened for a moment, and he smiled House's favorite smile.

"You're awake," he stated obviously, digging in his pocket for his penlight.

"Nope. I'm practicing annoying you in my sleep," House responded as Wilson shined that excruciatingly bright light into his eyes and began checking the monitors close to the bed. He mentally gave the oncologist some major efficiency points for one-handed treatment but deducted a few when he remembered that Wilson was left-handed. "My ultimate goal is to be able to bug you 24/7."

Wilson gave a small chuckle. "Great. As if you aren't irritating enough already."

"Hey! I resemble that remark," House retorted as Wilson finished his fussing and his roaming hand came to rest beside House's right shoulder. For a moment their eyes locked and all traces of humor vanished. "Did Cuddy do what I asked?" House questioned seriously. Wilson nodded.

"Yeah. You've been out for two weeks."

"Two weeks?" House repeated, mentally rolling his eyes as he hated when people repeated someone else's sentences in question form. Wilson nodded again, and his expression took on a slightly darker appearance.

"The first bullet was through and through and perforated your liver. The surgeons were forced to remove a good bit of it. Lucky for you there was enough left to sustain you, obviously. The second bullet was, thankfully, not much more than a flesh wound. If you're even luckier, there won't even be a scar," Wilson explained almost mechanically.

"Doesn't sound that bad," House replied, shifting uncomfortably under his friend's unusual countenance. Wilson jerked a little at House's words, his eyes widening a little more and looking decidedly glassier than Greg would have liked as the other man gaped at him.

"It was touch and go for a while. They almost lost you twice during the surgery. You had lost so much blood and…" he hesitated. His elegant brown eyes suddenly found his shoes very interesting, and his left hand came up to rub the back of his neck nervously as his right squeezed House's hand just a little bit tighter. "I'm sorry." He continued unexpectedly.

"What?" House questioned firmly, unsure of what the oncologist was apologizing for.

"I said I'm sorry," Wilson repeated, louder this time, as he brought his now tearful eyes back up to meet House's.

"For what? You didn't shoot me," Greg attempted to reassure his friend the only way he knew.

"I wasn't there," Wilson continued, visibly regulating his breathing because he knew House hated when people cried. "Again." He added sorrowfully.

House's eyes widened in horror as he comprehended what his friend was saying. Wanting to appear as strong as possible for the rest of this conversation, he immediately tried to sit up. He pushed his body up with his legs and left hand for only a moment before Wilson's hand instinctively came up to stop him before the younger man pushed the button that raised to head of the bed.

"Thanks. Now stop it," House responded emphatically. Wilson winced and looked at him questioningly. "No way am I gonna watched you do this again. You can't keep blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control."

"But if I was there…" Wilson began, but House didn't allow him to finish.

"Nothing would have changed except you would have had the pleasure of watching. Or worse, you would have tried to be the hero and take it for me. Thanks but no thanks. I prefer that you were right where you were."

"The clinic," Wilson told him.

"Excuse me?" asked the confused House.

"I was in the clinic. My aunt came in with a sprained wrist. I fixed her up fast enough, but you know my family. She had me in there talking about everything and nothing for almost an hour. She was my last clinic case so there was no hurry. She even asked about you. She insisted that I bring you home for Hanukah this year. She said she missed your quote 'mesmerizing blue eyes,'" both House and Wilson grinned unconsciously at that before their expressions became serious once again. "I had just finished signing out and was about to come and get you for lunch when I looked up and saw a man running toward me. He looked…crazy to say the least. He was hell-bent on the exit and just pushed me to the ground and out of the way like it was nothing.

No one knew what it was all about, so I just brushed it off. What else could I do? I didn't even make it to the elevator before I heard what happened. A group of nurses were running past me; one was explaining to the others that a doctor had been shot down in his office and was being taken to surgery. They never said who, but somehow I just...knew…it was you."

Tears were threatening to overflow and spill down Wilson's face as he spoke, and House felt sick. Inwardly, he cursed the nurses (whoever they were) for existing. Wilson didn't deserve to have found out that way. It should have been Cuddy or one of the ducklings sitting him down and breaking it gently. Had it been himself, he probably would have preferred the first method of receiving the news. It was quick, efficient, and cut through all the crap – the way House liked it. But Wilson was not House. Wilson cared. Wilson had heart. Wilson wasn't broken yet.

"I ran after them. I almost beat them to the ER. They were still prepping you for surgery when I arrived, but they wouldn't let me see you. I think that's what scared me the most. You could have been dying, and they wouldn't let me see you."

"You watched, didn't you?" House asked, already knowing the answer. "From observation." Wilson nodded the affirmative.

"I had to see you. I had to be there." House nodded silently as a single tear finally made its way down James' smooth cheek, curving slightly onto his chin, and dripping gracefully onto the bed next to House's arm. Greg's eyes followed the tear's path until its abrupt stop on the white cloth beneath him.

"Thanks," he nearly whispered, eyes still focused on the tearstain next to him. James clutched his hand harder still.

"Always," he responded simply, causing House to meet his eyes once more. And that was what sealed it. House saw something in Wilson's eyes at that moment; something he couldn't begin to explain and didn't care to try because what he saw belonged only to him and him alone. It was in this very instant that one of his damnable defense mechanisms kicked into gear. Without second thought, the injured man pulled his hand from his friend's, reached over to his morphine drip, and lowered it significantly.

"House, what are you doing?" questioned the startled Wilson.

"I'm lowering my morphine," he replied monotone.

"Why? Are you crazy? You haven't healed enough yet. You'll be in pain," Wilson reached for the button to turn it back on, but House slapped his hand away.

"Don't. It's been two weeks. I'll be fine. I have to know," he told him. Wilson understood, dropping his hand, and they waited.

"Well?" James asked after a couple of minutes had passed. House considered his response for a moment.

"I'm not sure. Hang on," he had barely gotten the words out before he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and attempted to stand. Within a second, Wilson was at his side attempting to lower him back down onto the bed.

"Are you completely crazy?" the younger man scolded. "You just came out of a coma, House! Lay back down before you hurt yourself!" But House refused. Knowing he would do more harm than good by attempting to restrain his friend, Wilson gripped him under his elbows and helped to pull the older man into a standing position. House automatically placed his weight on his left leg and suddenly became very nervous. If his right leg still hurt, if the ketamine had no effect and his pain remained, he would still be in the same self-destructive downhill fall he was in before he was shot, and two weeks of his life would be lost in darkness for nothing. On the other hand, if the pain were gone, there was also the possibility of a lifetime without pain. And that was incentive enough.

With Wilson's strong hands still gripping his elbows, House squeezed his eyes shut before he slowly and carefully shifted his weight to the right. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the pain to overwhelm him, but it never came. At first he did nothing, to shocked to believe this was actually happening, then cautiously opened his eyes as James shifted in place, waiting for an answer. Brown met blue once again, and Wilson had all the answers he needed. The ketamine had worked. House's pain was gone. Suddenly, the anguish that had marred Wilson's boyish face disappeared as quickly as it had come, vanishing as if it never was, and a smile to brighten the world broke out on his beautifully unharmed lips as he began to laugh. Instantly, something inside of House snapped. He felt different. He felt good. He felt…happy. For the first time in five years, Greg House found that here, in the middle of this boring hospital room wearing nothing but a backless gown with Wilson holding him (more or less) in his arms, he was really, truly happy. And before he knew what he was doing, House was laughing hysterically too.

* * *

Two days later, House was released from the hospital. His pain had not returned, but he was well aware of the fifty percent chance it would. That chance taunted him relentlessly; haunted his nightmares. Even without the pain, his need for cane did not disappear. His injury still existed. Ketamine could not magically regenerate his missing muscle tissue. However, he used the cane a significantly smaller amount of the time. Instead of his times without need of the cane being rare, the times he needed it became few and far between. For this House was eternally grateful, but surprisingly he found himself also feeling a tiny bit of sadness over the fact that his trusty stick was no longer constantly at his side. He had no instrument of torture to swing at Cuddy anymore. And, although he would never admit it, it was almost more embarrassing limping around without it than with it. When he confided to Wilson about this, the younger man had simply smiled and told him that it was normal and he would eventually get used to walking on his own once again. House was skeptical but said nothing.

The next day, Wilson bought House a skateboard. House had entered his office that morning to find it sitting on his chair with a bright pink bow stuck to the middle and a folded piece of paper next to it. He grinned to himself as he picked up the paper and opened it to glance at the message written with familiar spidery, chicken scratch handwriting. It read: _House, I found you a new friend to reek havoc with when I'm not around. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Love, Wilson P.S. Don't tell Cuddy where you got it._

House's grin took on a mischievous appearance as he sat the note on his desk and pick up the board. It was nice; a lot like the one he'd had in college. He held the board under his arm as he walk/limped back outside the door of his office. Then, after placing it on the ground beside him, House placed his left leg on the board, moving it back and forth a couple of times to get his confidence up. Once he was certain he was not going to fall, he shifted his weight more to the left and pushed off with his right foot. Reveling in the sight of doctors, nurses, and patients alike glaring at him as he sped past, he skated through the hospital corridors in search of his best friend.

He found Wilson in a patient's room in oncology. The little girl sitting up in the bed didn't appear to be more than four, maybe five years old. Her green eyes were bright and cheerful as Wilson spoke to her, and House found himself wondering what it must feel like to be able to make a dying little bald girl look so alive just by speaking. It was Wilson's gift. He could make anyone look that happy. Even House. Once that thought ended, House shook himself. Since when was he so damn sentimental? Deciding that thinking was a bad idea, he used his right leg once again to push off, this time into the patient's room.

Both Wilson and the little girl looked up as House rode in. All three of them had stupid grins plastered on their faces. House braked just before hitting the patient's bed and found himself nearly face to face with one James Wilson.

"I see you found your gift," Wilson commented with a smirk as House stepped on the back of the board, causing it to stand upright, grabbed it, and tucked it under his left arm.

"Yep!" House replied proudly, beaming like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. "I gotta hand it to ya, this was a pretty sweet idea."

"I thought you might think so," Wilson replied, still smirking, before adding an; "Obviously," to his very _duh _statement. House adored those times he was able to put that smirk on James' face. He gave him a sense of accomplishment.

"Is it your birthday?" the little doe-eyed cancer girl asked innocently, eyeing the big pink bow he hadn't bothered to remove. House turned to her and grinned a rare, genuine grin.

"Sure is," he lied. Bambi's (as House decided to call her) shoulders rose slightly as she let out an excited gasp.

"It's my birthday too!" she exclaimed happily, almost bouncing in the oversized sterile bed. "My mommy and daddy are getting me my presents right now! I get to have cake and ice cream and balloons and everything!"

"Are you serious?" House questioned in mock disbelief. Bambi nodded furiously. "Wow, did you ever beat me. All I get is this one lousy gift and some left over pizza and breadsticks from three days ago to celebrate."

"You get pizza?" Bambi asked excitedly, obviously not seeing what he could possibly be complaining about. House simply shook his head and turned to Wilson.

"So, you about done here? I can hear the cafeteria calling."

"House, it's ten o'clock in the morning. It's way too early for lunch," Wilson replied.

"Who said anything about lunch?" House countered.

"I've already had breakfast," Wilson informed him. House smirked and put on his best Scottish accent.

"You've had one, yes. But what about second breakfast?" Wilson sighed and turned away, continuing his check up on Bambi.

"No, House."

"What about elevenses?" House continued mock-innocently.

"House!" Wilson reprimanded. House made a fake sad face and turned back to Bambi.

"He's always so mean to me. I don't know why we can't just be friends. I think it's his commitment issues. He's just afraid I'll break his heart," his voice was now as melodramatic as he could make it, and Bambi still giggled although she did not understand.

"House," Wilson said warningly once again.

"Fine. I can tell when I'm not wanted," he fake scoffed. Taking his skateboard out from under his arm, House peeled the bow off and promptly stuck it atop the little girl's bald head, making a funny noise as he did so. Bambi laughed hysterically, bringing her tiny hands up to pat the bow proudly. "Happy fifth birthday, kid." He told her as he sat the board down and started for the door. Behind him, he heard Bambi gasp.

"How did he know I was gonna be five?" she asked, sounding utterly astonished. House popped his head back in the room before Wilson could answer.

"Because I'm magic," he told her, his eyes widening to their fullest as he wiggled his fingers at her mystically. The last thing he heard before turning back around and skating toward the clinic was the faint sound of Bambi's laughter. Although no one currently employed at Princeton-Plainsboro would believe it, House was actually excited about getting to the clinic. He couldn't wait until Cuddy got a load of this.

* * *

The day after the skateboard surprise was a Friday, and, as usual, Wilson arrived at House's apartment promptly at five carrying a bag full of Chinese food in one hand and a bag filled with rental movies in the other. Very few words were spoken as the movies played on and the food disappeared. Wilson sat next to House on the sofa, apparently engrossed in the action packed film whilst House found himself unable to do the same. As the night drug on, he became increasingly distracted by his plans to ask Wilson out. He found it strange that every time he had ever asked a woman on a date he had not been nervous at all; being his arrogant self he had always been quite confident that they would definitely say yes. Yet every time he opened his mouth to ask his friend that very same question his mouth would suddenly turn as dry as the Gobi, and he would end up merely taking a swig of beer instead.

As the completely uninteresting films continued as a constant in the background, House replayed his idea of exactly how he would question Wilson over and over in his head. It was ridiculous, of course. Only a hormonally unbalanced fourteen-year-old girl would act in such a way, but he continued anyway. In his mind, he had it all figured out. He would start by saying something smooth and worthy of the panty peeler himself before suavely reminding James of their long and meaningful friendship and how it had lasted longer than any of their wives and/or girlfriends ever had. James would agree, looking vaguely confused yet slightly suspicious but wouldn't comment further. Then Greg would point out that it would only be logical for them to try and take the next step with their relationship. James would eye him for a moment, carefully considering the proposition in his head, before giving House his reserved grin as his affirmative answer. Greg would then scoot closer to James on the couch, study the other man's face for a moment, then grab him by his tie and kiss his mouth passionately.

It was perfect. It was brilliant. There was no way in hell his plan could fail. As the credits for Star Wars Episode IV began to roll, he decided to make his move. Slightly faster than he had intended, he turned his face toward Wilson and opened his mouth to speak. Much to his dismay, he once again felt as if his mouth were suddenly filled with cotton. For a moment, he was stuck, gaping like a fish, as Wilson sat his plate down on the coffee table in front of them. If the younger man noticed his odd behavior, he hadn't let on.

"So…" House began slowly, suddenly forgetting every detail of his perfectly assembled plan. "I can't believe Darth Vader was Luke's father. What were the odds of that?"

"First off, that doesn't happen until the sixth movie," Wilson said as he turned his head to face House. "And secondly, the entire world's known that for twenty odd years."

"Still, you gotta admit it's a pretty sweet twist," House continued ramble.

"Yep, that's what you said the first time we watched it together eight years ago. What's on your mind?" Wilson immediately caught on.

"I think we should do it." House winced as he heard the words spew from his mouth before they could be stopped. _Smooth, House. Very smooth. _Wilson's eyes widened considerably as he shook himself as though he expected to wake from some seriously screwed up dream.

"Date," House clarified quickly. "Date. I think you and I should go out. On a date."

"A date?" Wilson questioned with the same 'I'm pretty sure this is a dream and am going to wake up at any moment' look on his face.

"Uh huh," House confirmed.

"You and me?" Wilson continued.

"Mmhmm."

"On a date?"

"Yeah."

"As in a _date _date?"

"Yep."

Wilson hesitated for a moment, cocking his head to one side in a rather birdlike fashion as he continued his internal deliberation then shrugged as all confusion suddenly vanished from his features.

"Sounds good," he responded, turning back to the television as the credits continued to roll. House sat in the same position for a moment, his mouth hanging open slightly as he processed the conversation in his mind. He then sat up a little straighter and turned back around to stare, uncaring, at the t.v. himself, his expression unchanging.

"Cool," he replied finally, taking another bite of noodles and scooting just a little more to the right. He chanced another glance at James and saw that the other man had House's smirk on his face. Greg allowed himself a satisfied grin before sighing and reaching for the remote. "So, you think this thing has a gag reel?"

* * *

So there's chapter 1! I hope you enjoyed it! This is my very first House fic, so please be kind also I wasn't sure how to spell "elevensies." I don't own LOTR anymore (since my brother broke it), so if it's wrong and someone knows how to spell it correctly I would _really _love to know! Remember REVIEWS EQUAL LOVE!  



	2. Doing It

The next day was a Saturday. House hadn't slept the night before. Instead, he found himself pondering furiously on exactly where to take Wilson for their date. One thing House despised was long, candlelit dinners in some unnecessarily quiet and stuck up restaurant, but for some reason the suggestion kept creeping back into the front of his mind. Would Wilson enjoy something like that? The topic had never actually come up in casual conversation. Why would it? He knew Wilson liked to take his wives to fancy places. It was really the only kind of place he took them, and the younger man always came to work sickeningly happy the next day. This, House knew, meant that Wilson definitely got some. So, obviously there was something to this fine, romantic dining that House was seriously missing.

When the alarm clock went off at eight that morning, House made his decision. Picking up his bedroom phone, he called to make reservations at the most expensive restaurant within twenty miles he had never taken Stacy (or Cameron) to. The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of either of those disasters. After confirming their time for seven p.m., House slowly got out of bed and prepared himself for what promised to be the one of the longest work days of his life.

"Right. So, looks like we're going with lupus. Start him on steroids and call me in the morning…Scratch that. Call me Monday. You can handle it yourselves 'til then, right?" House questioned his three minions as he slipped his leather jacket, picked up his skateboard, and swung his backpack over his left shoulder while making his way toward the door.

"Wait. What? That's it?" Foreman questioned, looking utterly bewildered. "No argument? No preschool worthy insults? Just, 'Yeah, Cameron's right. It's lupus'?"

"Yep," House agreed, brushing him off and placing his right hand on the door handle.

"Are you feeling all right?" Chase asked, looking as shocked and confused as Foreman.

"Nope. I'm feeling better than all right. I'm elated, ecstatic, excited, exhilarated, enthusiastic, euphoric, and…any other of those existential erotic 'e' expressions," House replied cheekily while opening the door.

"Why?" Cameron inquired, looking a little too interested than House was comfortable with.

"Got a hot date. Can't be late. Don't really wanna screw this one up," he replied quickly, throwing his skateboard to the floor and riding off before anyone could reply. He was about halfway down the hall before she caught up with him.

"House! Wait up!" Cameron shouted as she bolted from the conference room. House rolled his eyes dramatically as he stopped the board, shifted his weight to the back, and twisted to face her.

"Is the patient dying again already? Geez, that's gotta be a record," he said sarcastically as she jogged up next to him.

"You've really got a date?" she questioned somewhat breathlessly as she eyed him like someone just kicked her puppy.

"Yes. One that your pointless questions are currently making me late for. Was there something of relative importance you wanted to ask, or is jealousy just getting the best of poor little Allison?" he snapped, maybe a tad bit harsher than he had originally intended. Cameron flinched slightly but stood her ground.

"I do. Have something important, that is. This…date…actually sounds important to you, so I take it you're going somewhere nice?" Cameron began. House eyed her suspiciously.

"Yeah. So?" Cameron gave a half grin.

"That's not what you're wearing, is it?" she asked, eyeing his favorite Monster Truck Jam tee and newest pair of carpenter style blue jeans.

"Maybe. Why do you care?" he shifted on his board slightly, still keeping a wary eye on her. This time Cameron gave a real smile, more of a smirk really, before standing up straighter, nodding her head toward the elevators, and walking past him almost arrogantly.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder. House turned on his board once again, looked the tiny woman up and down, then followed with a skeptical shrug.

Once in the parking lot, Cameron instructed House to follow her. House himself was at a complete loss as to what the hell was going on but said nothing. Cameron had never acted so…interesting before, and he couldn't resist an anomaly. However, to his surprise, Cameron led him straight to his own apartment, and he vaguely wondered if he should be at all disturbed by the fact that she found it from memory.

"What are we doing here?" House questioned, completely perplexed, as he closed the door behind them. Cameron's dastardly smirk widened.

"Getting ready," she replied obscurely.

"For what?"

"Your date," Cameron answered as if he'd asked the dumbest question on Earth.

"I don't recall inviting you," House said, still not quite getting it.

"I'm not going. I'm getting _you_ ready," Cameron clarified.

"Really?"

"Mmhmm. Where's the closet?" Not knowing what else to do, House wordlessly pointed to the closet door. He would allow his inner fourteen-year-old girl to win once again as she had brought him good luck in the recent past. Cameron immediately turned on her heels to open it.

"I'm impressed," she told him as she eyed the organization within. "I never took you for the housecleaning type."

"I plead the fifth," House responded.

"Okay, first thing's first. Where are you going to dinner?" Cameron got down to business. House scoffed and gave her a look.

"Like I'd tell you so you can stalk my every move, wait until I go to the little girls' room, and slip a cyanide pill in my date's drink. I think not." To House's disappointment, Cameron did not react at all in a Cameron-like fashion.

"Fine. A really nice restaurant would require at least a tie if not a jacket as well…" House gave her another look. "Okay, we'll just go with the tie." House gave a nod of approval. "Good, but we need an outfit first. Oh, these are nice." He said nothing as she pulled out the very same black dress pants he had worn on their excruciatingly brief _date_. "Right, now. A shirt…Ooh! Definitely this one!" Cameron next pulled out his pale pink, long-sleeved, button up shirt." _'Hmm. Pink. Interesting choice. Maybe I should wear a large neon sign with the words _I'm a homosexual! _flashing on top of my head.' _House thought to himself as she laid the shirt beside the pants on the back of the couch. "And…the black jacket." House gave her yet another look. "Oh, come on. You wear it to work all the time for no reason, but you can't wear it to look good for one lousy date?"

"It doesn't work," he informed her smugly. Cameron's expression switched to confusion.

"What doesn't work?"

"The outfit. It doesn't work," he explained. Cameron gave him a questioning look. "You put the black jacket and the pink shirt together with the black pants when everyone who's anyone knows that I only where the two aforementioned pieces with the brown or blue jeans." Cameron rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.

"Brown pants do not go with a black jacket," she argued.

"Sure they do," House countered.

"Not they don't. Mixing brown and black like that is a big fashion no no."

"My mommy says it looks adorable."

"My eyes say it looks careless."

"You don't have your glasses on."

"Your fashion sense is as inept as a linebacker in the World Series!"

"Nice try, but it still needs work." Cameron gave a heavy sigh.

"So, are you gonna wear the outfit?"

"No." Cameron's shoulders slumped.

"No?"

"I like the brown."

The brown pants do not look right with the black jacket, House!"

"Yes, they do."

"No, they don't!"

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Do too."

"Do not!"

"Do too times infinity!"

"Gah!" Cameron almost growled. "You're wearing what I got out, House, and that's final!" House smirked, proud of his work in getting her so flustered over the color of his pants. He felt sorry for any future children she may have. Talk about anal.

"Fine. You win," he agreed, not attempting to hide his smugness. Cameron sighed once again.

"Show me your ties," she then instructed, changing the subject as quickly as possible. Thirty seconds later, Cameron stood staring in disbelief at the choices in neckwear that House had provided her.

"Three ties? That's all you own?" she questioned, bewildered exasperation evident in her voice.

"Technically? No," he responded. "I own a total of zero ties. I've just been gradually stealing them from Wilson. I wanna see how many I can collect before he realizes I'm taking them." Cameron rolled her eyes again before grabbing the violet tie from the back of the couch and handing it to him.

"Here. Wear this one," she ordered him. House looked at it incredulously.

"Purple? You don't think the black one would make a bit more sense?" he inquired honestly.

"A little maybe. But violet goes with pink, it helps set off your eyes, and it also happens to be Dr. Wilson's favorite color," she responded with a wink, handing him a pair of black socks and his only pair of dress shoes. House's mouth went unconsciously agape at her words, the shock leaving him speechless. Cameron gave a triumphant smirk and raising of her chin. "Now go get dressed. I want to see the finished product."

At exactly 6:53 p.m., there was a knock at House's door. Desperate for anything to get him away from Cameron's insane mothering, he rushed to answer it. Just as the rapping began once again, he pulled the door open. Wilson had to stop himself from bringing his fist back down and punching House in the face as his knocking was interrupted. House watched him in surprise.

"I thought _I_ was picking _you_ up," he said as Wilson brought his hand back down to his side.

"Yeah, you were suppose to. Twenty minutes ago," the younger man replied, bouncing on his feet a little.

"I could have been stuck in traffic," House suggested, giving him a fake insulted look.

"I live a block away," Wilson countered, not falling for it.

"Whose fault is that?" House retorted, not really knowing what that was supposed to mean.

"Wait, what?" the now thoroughly confused Wilson questioned. House opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Cameron's way too cheerful voice.

"Oh, hello, Dr. Wilson. Don't tell me he's running late! He wouldn't tell me what time he made the reservations for. I think he thinks it's funny," she told him with insincere exasperation in her voice. Wilson did not reply. Instead, he merely stared at her, mouth slightly agape in confusion, before turning back to House.

"Why is Cameron in your apartment?" he inquired in a bewildered tone.

"She's my date doctor slash fashion consultant," House quipped. Wilson still looked perplexed. "Seriously, I have no idea. Either it's _that time _of the month or she's having a complete emotional breakdown." House shrugged. "Whatever it is, all I've had to do so far is get dressed and shave on my own. She has literally done _everything _else, so I could really care less. You ready to go?"

"What? Yeah," Wilson snapped himself out of it. "We're late already. We probably won't even have a table when we get there."

"Oh, well. There's always Plan B," House shrugged once more as he turned to grab his jacket.

"What's Plan B?" Wilson asked as he stepped aside to allow House room to exit.

"The backseat, of course," House rolled his eyes sarcastically as he stepped outside next to his friend. House inwardly smiled at the completely blank look this comment startled out of Wilson as he called over his shoulder, "Hey, Cameron! We're leaving! Get out of my house!"

"I'm coming!" came Cameron's irritated reply. House smirked before turning to walk past Wilson and down the steps.

"Is that my tie?" Wilson questioned as he jogged to catch up with him. House's smirk widened, but he didn't turn around.

"Not today!"

At precisely 7:06 p.m., House and Wilson arrived at their destination. House had driven, and Wilson had been certain of their imminent deaths at several different points during the ride. However, they arrived at the restaurant safely and were somewhat pleased to find that their table had, in fact, not been given away. As they sat across from each other, took their menus from the waiter, and began to skim through the various "Italian" meals, House was pleasantly surprised to find that he was inexplicably comfortable. For the first time since he started dating in middle school, he found that he did not feel awkward or uncomfortable sitting across from his date. There were no crushing expectations being pushed on him at every second, no corny earrings or dangerously pointy shoes to compliment; no ludicrously long and boring stories about…something he never paid attention to. Wilson already knew House. House already knew Wilson. It occurred to him then that this whole thing was really only a formality, a nice gesture to enable him to tell his only friend something that he could never really say. Gregory House was not sentimental.

House knew what he would be eating the moment he glanced at the menu. Wilson, however, always took forever to decide. He weighed _all_ his choices as if they would result in life or death, not wanting to chance making another mistake. It was a good quality for a doctor but a crappy quality for everything else. Considering this, House wondered then why Wilson had agreed to such an extreme shift their relationship so readily. The man in question then chose that moment to stir slightly in his chair, his eyes still raking through the words in front of him, and House took this opportunity to admire him properly.

The other man didn't look much different than he did any other day. He was wearing a black suit jacket, a light brown button up shirt that House couldn't recall ever seeing before, a pair of black dress pants (he made a mental note to rub that in Cameron's face the next time he saw her), and," House smirked unconsciously, "his green 'look how pretty I am' tie."

"What are you smirking at?" James' voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Your clothes," House replied honestly.

"My clothes?" Wilson repeated, earning a look from House.

"Yeah. Brown and black _so_ do not go together." Wilson gave a small chuckle, setting his menu on the table, but didn't reply. "Now what are _you _smirking about?"

"I'm not smirking," Wilson replied, his grin widening.

"Are too. That is definitely a smirk," House pointed at him, his own smile growing.

"I was just thinking," Wilson began.

"Careful. That can be painful," House warned, rubbing his own head to emphasize.

"Why did you do this?" James inquired, looking serious yet still relaxed. House, on the other hand, suddenly became very tense.

"Do what? Shave?" he feigned ignorance.

"This," Wilson continued. "Twelve years we've known each other, why now? What changed?" House hesitated, looking into James' eyes as he considered his answer carefully.

"I did," he replied simply, remembering a past conversation they had had. "It isn't enough just to feel something. If you love someone and never tell them, there isn't any point. If a person doesn't know how you feel about them, then the emotion has no meaning. It's useless. I want…I need meaning." Wilson kept his eyes locked with House's, searching for something unknown to House himself. After a few moments passed, he seemed to have found it. Wilson nodded in understanding, never breaking eye contact. At that moment, House felt something very strange. It was as if the burdens of the last seven years had suddenly lifted from his shoulders. He had changed once again. Only this time, he knew it would be for the better.

"Good evening, gentlemen," the falsely cheerful waiter interrupted. "Are we ready to order?"


	3. Much Ado About Nothing

Precisely two hours, forty-nine minutes, and fifty-one seconds after Wilson knocked on House's door, the two men found themselves standing, once again, on the steps in front of 221B. Deciding that their short dinner hardly sufficed as an unforgettable first date, House had passed up Wilson's own apartment and instead drove them both back to his place. Wilson hadn't objected. In fact, he hadn't even commented as the car sped past his door. House briefly wondered if the other man had been expecting it.

Once inside, House tore off his jacket and tossed it aside, not really caring where it landed. He heard Wilson sigh behind him as the younger man closed the front door, but he didn't comment. Instead the oncologist slipped his own jacket off and hung it over his right arm, shifting his weight slightly uncomfortably. House ignored him at first, his attention focused primarily on tearing off the constricting tie he had been coerced into wearing. However, in his hurry, he merely succeeded in tightening it almost painfully around his neck. Seeing his struggle, Wilson grinned and shook his head slightly before stepping in front of his friend and batting his fumbling hands away. In a matter of seconds, he had the tie expertly loosened, untied, and hanging around House's shoulders.

"Thanks," House said with his version of embarrassment clear on his face, his eyes carefully avoiding the other man's.

"Any time," Wilson responded, grin never leaving his lips.

It was at this moment that both men realized exactly how close they were standing to one another. A familiar tension filled the air, magnified a thousand times by their proximity. It wasn't as if they hadn't stood close to each other before. In fact, they seemed to always be shoulder to shoulder wherever they went. House's personal space and Wilson's personal space became _their _personal space whenever they were together. It was a natural progression, a reflection of their friendship. But those had been different times. They were times of deep friendship, unspoken caring, and not so innocent flirting; times when everything was hidden beneath the surface in the subtext of the pages. However, they were now standing, face to face, breathing each other's air, only minutes after their first real "romantic" date. This time was different.

"You know, I've been looking for that tie for months," Wilson reprimanded jokingly. House returned his mischievous grin.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied with feigned innocence while quickly turning away and heading toward the kitchen. Wilson's grin disappeared as he did so, and the young man sighed, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get the beer."

"Right. Thanks," was Wilson's…did House hear disappointment in that response?

"Turn something on," House called as he leaned into his refrigerator and grabbed two bottles in the same hand as Wilson plopped into his regular seat on the lumpy couch. "I Tivoed 'Much Ado About Nothing' earlier. You like Shakespeare, right?" Wilson turned in his seat to give House a surprised look as the older man made his way over.

"Yeah, but since when did you?" he questioned suspiciously.

"Since yesterday," House answered, holding out the beer so that Wilson could take one and making sure that he 'discretely' emphasize that it was, in fact his right hand that he was using to complete this task. Wilson smiled proudly, understanding the silent gesture, but their conversation did not go interrupted.

"Why yesterday?" the oncologist was still confused.

"Cause that's when I started planning this whole thing," House responded simply, plopping himself down to the left of his best friend, perhaps slightly closer than usual.

"Ah," Wilson replied while popping the cap off his beer and starting the movie.

"Besides, I really do like this movie," the diagnostician defended.

"I trust not for its literary significance or hopelessly romantic moral?" Wilson asked in a sarcastically rhetorical manner.

"Well, all of that's good, but have you checked out that Emma Thompson? She has got the ass of a goddess! And feisty too, boy. Let me tell ya," House waggled his eyebrows as he took a swig of beer. Wilson rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You sure know how to charm a girl on the first date," he commented, his voice still dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh, did I hurt poor wittle Jamie's feelings?" House questioned in mock concern. Wilson gave him a pointed look, and House inwardly smiled. "Don't worry. I'd take your ass over hers any day." Wilson raised his eyebrows questioningly. "For one it's realistically attainable, and secondly it's nearby and easily accessible."

Wilson laughed at this, but House didn't miss the slight blush that came over his face as the young man turned to face the television once more. House's mouth quirked at the sight. Things were not only changing but had changed already. It had not occurred to him before that this one date with his best friend would change their relationship so dramatically. Gone were the days of unacknowledged and harmless flirting as they drank and watched old British comedies together. The attraction was now acknowledged. It had been brought into the daylight, and they both knew that it would not recede back into the darkness quietly and without wounding them both. The only question was what happens next?

He hadn't much time to ponder the situation, however, as a sharp pain suddenly wrenched him from his contemplation as he let out a distressed yelp. His still full beer fell clumsily to the ground before both of his hands instinctively latched onto his right thigh. Remembering that pain was no longer suppose to be a part of his life, House began to panic. There was always a chance that his pain would return, but he had never really prepared himself.

"House!" he heard Wilson shout from beside him, fear evident in his voice as he instinctively lay his hands over top of his friends. "What's happening?"

"It hurts," was all House managed to choke out as he dug his fingers harder into his damaged leg.

"Let me see," Wilson coaxed, gently attempted to remove his friends hands.

"No!" House resisted, afraid that letting go would only allow the pain to intensify. Wilson's grip on his hands tightened.

"House? House, listen to me. You've gotta let me see your leg," he once again attempted to remove House's hand, but his friend let out an uncharacteristic whimper and refused to relent. Deciding a new plan of action was needed, Wilson let go of House's hands and instead placed them on either side of the frightened man's face. "House, look at me." No response. "Greg, open your eyes and look at me!" Upon hearing the strict tone in his friend's voice, House did as he was told, his eyes opening to meet Wilson's. James was taken aback by the fear he saw inside his best friend's breathtaking blue eyes, and he shuddered unconsciously. It had been an all too familiar sight six years before.

"Jimmy," the young man recovered quickly at the weak, pleading tone House put into this one word.

"Listen to me, Greg. Everything's gonna be all right, but you have to let me look at your leg," Wilson told him in what he hoped was a very confident voice, careful to keep any and all fear out of his own eyes. House watched him for another few seconds before cautiously releasing his grip, allowing Wilson to unbuckle his pants and throw them off, his socks flying halfway across the room with them. James' hands immediately came to rest on the scarred tissue of his right leg, assess the possible sources of Greg's sudden pain. House's own hand had transferred to the throw pillows that lay on either side of them, gripping them so hard he thought they might rip.

"How long has it been since you've used your cane, House?" Wilson questioned quickly.

"Just make it stop!" House begged, only hearing his friend's voice and not comprehending the words.

"Greg, I need you to focus. When did you last use your cane?" James continued patiently.

"I d-don't know. I-I can't remember," House gasped. His breathing was hard and fast.

"Greg, listen to me. You've gotta calm down, all right? You're panicking. Listen, it's just a cramp. You're making it worse by tightening up like that. I need you to slow down. Take a deep breath and try to relax. You're okay. It's okay," James soothed as he gently massaged his fingers into his friend's mutilated thigh, attempted to loosen the assaulting flesh. "Just breathe. Breathe through it. It'll all be over soon. Take a deep breath. Come on."

Slowly but surely, Wilson began to feel House's muscles loosen beneath his fingers as the older man's body relaxed. Although, he was still shivering, whether it was from pain, fear, or exhaustion, James couldn't tell.

"That's it. You're doing good. Just relax. You're okay," Wilson's voice was practically a whisper now. Even as Greg's muscles eased backed to normal, the two doctors stayed in their positions, neither daring to move just yet.

"All right, Greg, what do you say we get you into bed where you'll be more comfortable?" Wilson asked as he felt his own muscles begin to tighten from squatting in the same place for so long. House said nothing, but nodded his agreement. Carefully, Wilson placed House's arm over his shoulders and helped him limp into the nearby bedroom. They paused for a moment for Wilson to rather strategically bend to pull back the covers before allowing his friend to collapse onto the soft bed. House let out a pained groan as Wilson moved his legs up onto the mattress for him but didn't protest. This alone was enough to worry the young man. "You okay?" he asked cautiously, not wanting to sound as though he were coddling the other man. House nodded his head in response, his eyes still closed.

"I was just…so scared that it was all happening again – that the pain had come back for good," House choked out in a manner very unusual for him. "As soon as it started, I could see myself in that place again."

"What place?" Wilson questioned in that same soothing tone, his hands still massaging House's bad leg.

"Purgatory," House replied hauntingly. "Hanging between life and death and not really giving a damn about either one. Does that sound stupid?"

No," Wilson replied honestly. "Frightening, but not stupid."

"I'm tired, Jimmy," House changed the subject abruptly. Wilson allowed himself a slight grin. That was more like House.

"I'm not surprised," he told him, stilling his hands' movement and bringing his left one up to stroke House's hair away from his sweaty forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll be here." House nodded once more, and his right hand moved down to rest over as much of his brutal scar as possible as he suddenly found himself oddly self-conscious. It was pointless, of course. Himself excluded, no one had laid eyes on it more times than James Wilson.

"Turn out the light," he demanded.

"What's wrong?" Wilson questioned, wondering what had brought about the sudden burst of anger.

"Just do it," he responded impatiently, his fingers spreading in a feeble attempt to cover more of the damaged flesh. Confused by the strange movements, Wilson's gaze shifted to House's leg. Seeing what the older man was doing, he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Opening them once more, he took his friend's hand in his own and held it gently, stroking House's fingers with his thumb. He then brought his left hand down to delicately soothe the torturous scar. He felt House shudder at the touch but did not stop.

When his friend did not protest, Wilson gained some more confidence and gently move his hand from House's leg to the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up smoothly to reveal the wounded man's stomach where yet another gruesome scar marked his once flawless skin. James moved his hand to caress it as well, watching Greg's face closely for any sign he'd had enough. He felt his friend begin to tremble all over at his touch now but still he did not stop. Sliding his hand upward, Wilson found the last, small deformity that marred House's once faultless neck.

"Open your eyes," Wilson softly cajoled his shivering friend. Reluctantly, Greg did as he was told, almost afraid of what he might see. Already on the verge of tears, House felt his eyes sting even harder when he finally looked into his best friend's eyes. Never in his entire life had he seen such pure love in any being's eyes as he did in James Wilson's at that moment. It was ridiculous, really, that such an emotion should be wasted on someone like him. This should have been his cue to remind the foolish young doctor of this, but he found that the shock of it had left him speechless.

"You don't have to hide," James whispered softly, his fingers lightly tracing the mark on House's neck. "Every mark, every scar is a part of you. They're a part of who you are. Each one is a story, one small chapter in a very long book." Without even thinking about what he was doing, the oncologist leaned down and gently brushed his lips over the scar on the other man's neck. House gasped in a deep breath and held it, staring straight up at the ceiling as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that James Wilson, his best friend for over ten years, was kissing him. Receiving no objection, his friend then moved back to his stomach, pressing his lips down several times in succession onto the slowly healing wound, obtaining another, larger shudder as Greg swallowed roughly. Praying he wasn't completely misinterpreting signals, Wilson moved his right hand back down to stroke House's right thigh. Greg was trembling all over now, attempting to stay in control.

"I love you," James whispered, and for the first time in his life, he knew it was really, honestly, completely true. House choked and hated himself for it. He knew it was stress from the panic attack that was making him so sentimental, but that didn't make it any less embarrassing. However, his mental self-berating was cut short by the sensation of James' soft lips connecting with his mangled thigh, and he closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to pull it together. The kiss was long and lingering, as were the several that came after it. House's hands clenched the bed sheets as he lost the battle not to let his stress-induced tears fall. "I love you so much," James whispered in between caresses. "I won't let you go to that place again. I promise. It'll never be like that again." House winced as he felt something cold and wet on his leg and realized that he was not the only one allowing their inner pre-menstrual woman take control. Slowly, James made his way backup to House's stomach, stopping to plant another quick kiss there, and then to his neck, his lips brushing over the distorted flesh there before leaning up to watch his best friend's face once again.

For a long moment, House did nothing, unsure of what to make of whatever it was that had just happened. But the feeling of Wilson's hands on his face, wiping away the tears brought him back to the present. Slowly, House opened his eyes to see Wilson once more, and his heart wrenched when he saw that the young man's face was red and wet with his own tears. Right now would be exactly the time that House would make a rude and inappropriate yet undeniably funny comment and the moment would be ruined. However, to his surprise, he found that he felt no compulsion whatsoever to spoil anything at that time. Instead, he simply reached over and pulled back the covers on the other side of the bed. Wilson, understanding the gesture, kicked of his shoes, socks, and pants before climbing in the bed next to him.

Reaching down, Wilson pulled the covers up to both their waists. House did not object as his _oh so much more than friend _scooted closer and wrapped one arm around his waist. He did nothing as he felt James lift his head before laying it softly on the diagnostician's stomach. James merely made a small sound of contentment as Greg wrapped one arm around his shoulders and brought the other down to stroke his hair slowly and rhythmically. Neither spoke another word as they drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Neither moved from this position once during the long autumn night.

Exactly twelve hours, thirty-two minutes, and seventeen seconds after House fell in love again, he skated into the conference room, cane in hand this time, sickeningly happy.

* * *

YAY! Hope you enjoyed chapter 3! Chapter 4 is coming soon! Thanks to all the few but proud reviewers! Remember, everyone, reviews are what fuels my House/Wilson fire! Just don't flame the fire. That's just mean.


	4. I am not getting on that thing

Precisely six days, fifteen hours, and twenty-three minutes after their first date began, House asked Wilson to move back in. He had been considering it since he woke up the previous Sunday to find James' arm still wrapped around his waist and his head still using House's stomach as a pillow. It was at that moment that House had come to the conclusion that this was definitely the way he wanted to wake up every morning _maybe _for the rest of his life. Maybe. After all, the future is never certain. It was something House knew through extensive personal experience.

They were eating lunch in exam room one with General Hospital playing on the mini TV on the counter in front of them when courage finally smacked House across the face.

"Wanna move back in with me?" he questioned casually.

"No," Wilson responded without looking away from the television screen.

"Why not?" asked the slightly hurt House.

"Because you eat my food, make me do all the chores, stick my hand in warm water while I sleep, and make me wait on the front steps while you masturbate to last month's issue of _Cardiovascular Fantasy_," Wilson responded before eating a potato chip.

"Oh, come on. Would I do something like that?" House questioned sardonically. Wilson gave him a pointed look. "Okay, I would. But that was before."

"Before what? Dinner? Although I was very impressed that _you_ actually took the bill, I still don't quite believe that it was enough to completely reconstruct your personality."

"Dinner, pssht. I was talking about the half naked cuddling in my bedroom afterward," House responded dryly. "That's enough to make anyone reconsider forcing you to wet yourself."

"Your continuously flawless negotiating skills never cease to amaze," Wilson told him sarcastically as he placed another chip in his mouth.

"You _are_ moving back in with me," House grinned deviously.

"Don't be so smug," Wilson warned.

"Why not? You think it's hot," House's grin widened.

"I never said that," the oncologist defended.

"Yes, you did. Last year. You said my smugness was an 'attractive quality,' if I remember correctly. And I do."

"_Attractive_. Attractive does not mean 'hot,' House," Wilson continued his defense, still munching his chips and watching the TV. "Besides, I was being sarcastic."

"I don't care if you were being John Malkovich. You still said it," House replied, trying to keep his friend on the defensive.

"Well, whatever," Wilson gave up.

They then sat in silence once again. Wilson reached over and grabbed his Strawberry yogurt from the seat beside him and opened it. House seriously contemplated reaching over and taking it for himself but decided against it when he realized just how much fun he was having watching James lick the sweet smelling fruit slowly off the front then back of the spoon. In fact, he became so enthralled that he did not notice when the soap opera finally ended, nor did he comprehend the development that Wilson had finished his dessert and was now watching _him _with profound curiosity.

"Are you really serious about this?" the young man's question snapped House out of his trance.

"What?" he responded quickly, knowing he must have looked like a fool. The edges of Wilson's mouth twitched slightly before he continued in the same candor voice.

"Are you serious about wanting me to move back in with you?" James asked as he hopped up to stand in front of his friend.

"Have been every other time I've asked you since you moved out. Can't see why I'd change my mind now," House replied, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Yes, but that was when we were still sticking to the 'just friends' thing. Now we're dating, and my moving in with you this time would mean an actual commitment," Wilson continued, pretending he hadn't noticed the uneasiness in his friend's voice.

"Are you saying you don't wanna commit to me? Jimmy, I'm hurt!" House found his usual dry, humorous tone once again.

"No, that's not what I'm saying," Wilson defended, perhaps a little too quickly. House noticed and raised his eyebrows. Wilson recovered hastily and ignored him. "What I'm saying is we've only been actually _dating _for six days. Don't you think this might be going kind of fast?"

"Why? It's not like we just met last week. I know you. You know me. We've technically been 'together' for over a decade. Why is this so complicated to you?" House questioned, getting agitated and almost regretting bringing the topic up in the first place.

"No, the question is, why is this so easy for you?" Wilson's voice seemed to mirror House's own frustration.

"Because I know what _I _want. I've known for years!" House raised his voice slightly now. "What I don't know is what the great Boy Wonder Wilson wants! And it would seem as if even he doesn't know!"

"And you know exactly what you want?" Wilson avoided House's two last sentences.

"Maybe not _exactly_, but who does? I've got the basics down. That's all I need for now."

"All right, House. Just what is it that you want?" Wilson questioned, tossing his arms in the air to emphasize his impatience.

"You!" House shouted, loud enough that he was certain several of their soon to be patients would hear very clearly. Wilson looked stunned. He was watching House with that expression that reminded the diagnostician man of a lost puppy.

"Really?" James whispered, more out of disbelief than anything.

"No, I just get my kicks out of screaming random declarations of my true and undying love to anyone with brown eyes and a lab coat. Just wait until Foreman passes by! Boy, will he be embarrassed," House made an attempt at some lame humor as he was at a loss as to what to do next. So, for a moment, nothing happened. House watched James as James watched…apparently something very interesting on the wall behind the other man.

"Okay," Wilson finally replied, pulling his eyes back to meet House's and grinning slightly.

"Okay," House echoed with a matching smirk, wondering what he had just done.

Four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds after Wilson agreed, House skated into Cuddy's office. She looked up at him, immediately annoyed, but soon switched to confused as she noticed he was wearing his leather jacket and had his helmet and cane (as Wilson had insisted) in his hands.

"Where do you think you're going?" she questioned in her usual 'dealing with House' tone.

"Wow! You must be psychic! I haven't even said anything yet," House responded in feigned shock as he braked in front of her desk.

"I've been reading 'Sherlock Holmes.' You should try it sometime. I think you two would get along famously What with the debilitating drug addiction and rampant anti-socialism –" Cuddy responded dryly. "Now, seriously, where are you going?"

"Wilson and I are taking off for the weekend," he told her.

"You have clinic duty," she refused to let him go.

"No, Chase has clinic duty. I, on the other hand, have absolutely nothing to do."

"Why Chase?"

"He bet me I couldn't solve twelve clinic cases in less than a minute."

"And?"

"He lost," House replied, in a 'that was a stupid question' tone.

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Cuddy asked, expecting an unconvincing answer.

"Wilson's moving back in, and I want him to be settled by eight," House answered, sarcasm nearly gone from his voice. "It's movie night."

"Why is Wilson moving back in? Didn't you drive each other to insanity last time? And I distinctly remember you being extraordinarily sleep deprived due to his unusually loud toenails."

"Yeah, but this time he'll be sleeping in my bed instead of on my couch so I can keep him in line," House smirked. Cuddy's mouth dropped slightly at the seriousness of his comment, and she began to stutter for words. But before she could pull herself together, House reached into his bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera, snapping a picture and grinning triumphantly. "Yes! I knew this thing would come in handy! I am so getting this framed! Thanks, Cuddy, you've been great. I'll see ya around."

With that, House swiveled his board and skated back out. Cuddy simply watched his retreating form, contemplating the level of truth his words may have carried.

"What are those?" Wilson questioned as he exited the elevator to find House waiting on the other side smirking stupidly at two pictures he held in either hand.

"Pictures," House replied, looking up at him with the same devious grin.

"Okay. Pictures of what?" Wilson continued patiently as House tucked his skateboard under his arm, and the two of them began to walk toward the parking lot.

"Oh, nothing!" House grinned again, faking an attempt to hide them as Wilson looked over his shoulder. One picture proudly displayed the utterly shocked face of Princeton-Plainsboro's very own chief of medicine while the other was of House's three ducklings. Chase was sitting by the table in the conference room, his eyes and mouth widely hanging open in what could only be shock, as it appeared that his chair was rapidly falling backward. Foreman was standing with one arm propped up on the empty white board looking skeptical but not surprised. Then Cameron sat on the opposite side of the table as Chase, her head down and turned away from the boys with a knowing smirk on her face.

"Well that explains a lot," Wilson half-whispered.

"Whadda you think?" House questioned, ignoring Wilson's comment. "I'm having them blown up and framed. I think they'll look perfect on the mantle. Or in the bedroom. Yeah…the bedroom…"

"House! What is it with your incessant need to shock everyone?" Wilson ignored him as well. "Do you know what this can do to my career?"

"What, does playing with other boys throw off your test results? What do your patients care who you date if you're doing your job right?" House defended.

"It's not just the patients I'm worried about! It's the patients' families!" Wilson explained. "Believe it or not there are a lot of parents, husbands, wives, brothers, and sisters and such who have a very big problem with this sort of thing!"

"What do you care what they think?" House asked exasperatedly.

"I don't. I care about patients who won't get the level of care they deserve because daddy doesn't think Homo's make good doctors!" Wilson continued unabated.

"Actually, the correct term is 'bisexual.' Unless there's something I should know about those wives of yours," House kept on in his usual manner.

"Not to them, House. You know, when I left my office to come meet you I knew something was up. None of the nurses upstairs would so much as look me in the eye, Chase turned and practically ran the opposite way when he saw me coming –"

"So what? You're too social anyway," House shrugged.

"One of the elderly nurses smacked me!" Wilson finished. House smirked. "This isn't funny, House!"

"Yes, it is," House argued light-heartedly. "And once all your stuff's at my place and we can finally get drunk, you'll think so too."

"You're unbelievable," Wilson sighed.

"Maybe you should notify Mr. Ripley," House replied.

"You know, when I said 'you should use your cane more often', I meant you _should use your cane more often_ not carry it around and do baton tricks everywhere you go," Wilson changed the subject as the conversation seemed to be going nowhere.

"I use it," House defended.

"For what? Beating lackeys and scaring small children?"

"Hey, you said use it. You didn't say what for," House shrugged.

"_House_," Wilson warned.

"Will you stop worrying so much? You agonize over everything more than anyone I've ever met! You'll make yourself sick if you're not careful." House replied, not wanting to have this conversation.

"Right. I forgot concern was one of the deadly sins," Wilson rolled his eyes again.

"I use the cane when I need it, all right? I may be difficult, but I think I learned my lesson from the other day," House then lightened his tone in a clever attempt to drop the topic. "Although, if I ever need a disingenuous way to get you into my bed…"

"I know what you're doing. It won't work," Wilson successfully suppressed a grin at the way House wiggled his eyebrows at his own implication. "We need to talk about this."

"No, you do. I'm fine with not talking. In fact, I prefer it," House responded as he tossed his skateboard into the box he had attached to the back of his motorcycle and grabbed his helmet.

"You know, I may not be an expert, but I hear tell that most relationships only work if there's a certain level of communication involved," Wilson continued.

"Relationship? Who said anything about that? I only want you for your impeccable knowledge of domestic engineering. Especially those pancakes." Wilson glared in response. "Oh, come on, Wilson! Our 'relationship' has lasted over a decade. Obviously we're doing something right, so there's no reason to change our 'communication techniques' now." James opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by House's helmet being shoved into his stomach. "Put this on."

"Excuse me?" Wilson questioned, taking the helmet so he could breathe again.

"Put it on, please?" House continued impatiently.

"No way. I am not getting on that thing," the oncologist replied firmly, waving one arm toward the motorcycle.

"Oh, yes you are," House told him confidently.

"What makes you so sure?"

"The fact that your keys are sitting on your desk in your office," House smirked. Wilson's eyes widened for a second as he felt around his pockets looking for the keys.

"How'd you know?" he questioned as his search turned up empty.

"You always stick them in your back left pocket when you wear those pants," the diagnostician replied. "They're the only pair you own with back pockets."

"I ca…Wait, how'd you know all of that?" Wilson asked suspiciously.

"What? Did you think the night I asked you out I had just had a sudden epiphany and acted on a whim?" Wilson continued to stare in suspicion, still a little unsure of what House meant. House rolled his eyes. "Come on, you think I only pay attention to your ties?"

"Remind me when I get home to add 'my ass' to the list of_ My Things House Actually Pays Attention To_," Wilson snarked.

"You make a list?" House questioned?

"It's very short," Wilson responded.

"Mmhmm, now let's go," House urged.

"How exactly do you plan on fitting all my stuff onto your bike?"

"Won't have to. We'll take the corvette. It'll all fit in the trunk. Probably in one trip." House retorted.

"Wait, I thought the corvette's been in the shop," Wilson told him, suspicion returning to his voice.

"Nope. I just wanted you to quit asking to drive it," House replied. "Okay, stalling time's over. Put the helmet on," he ordered. Wilson sighed.

"Fine, but if I die, I'm going to haunt you for the rest of your life," he promised.

"I don't believe in ghosts," House told him as he shoved the helmet over his perfectly groomed hair.

"You will if you kill me," the younger man assured him as House put the kickstand up and threw his right leg over the bike.

"Come on," he motioned Wilson over with his head before attaching his cane to its holder. Wilson sighed again before tentatively straddling the motorcycle and sitting behind him. Before he could do anything, House grabbed his arms and drew them around himself so that they rested on the older man's stomach. Wilson couldn't help but grin at the feeling this action created in his own stomach.

"You know you haven't escaped these conversations forever, right?" James questioned, following an inexplicable need to speak.

"I figured as much," House replied, turning the engine on and smiling at the feeling of the other man's arms tightening around him. "Let's go home."

I hope you enjoyed chapter 4! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! Chapter 5 coming soon! This is all going somewhere. I swear:)


	5. Promise me something

Three days, fifteen hours, and twelve minutes after Wilson had officially moved in, House's world was once again turned upside down. He was in his office with Wilson, eating the other man's chips and laughing at the latest clinic story, with General Hospital playing out dramatically in the background, when he got the call. He didn't bother to check the caller ID, annoyed at the interruption, before answering with at irritated, "What?"

"Greg?" House winced, immediately regretting his earlier harsh tone as he heard his mother's soft voice on the other end.

"Hi, mom. Sorry about that. I –" he hesitated as the sounds of poorly suppressed sobs reached his ears. "Mom? Are you all right? What's wrong?" He sat up straight in his chair as a burst of adrenaline shot through his body.

Oh, honey. It's your father," his mother's voice trembled as she replied, barely keeping her composure. For a moment, time stood still. Every limb of House's body went cold as all the air was forced from his lungs.

"What happened?" he questioned, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"He had a heart attack. A couple of hours ago," she was speaking slowly, trying to break the news gently as she always did. She reminded him of Wilson when she did that. House took a deep breath.

"Is he okay?" he questioned needlessly. A tiny sob escaped his mother's throat before she answered.

"No, baby, he's not," came the tearful reply.

House knew this response was inevitable, yet it did nothing to soften the blow. He knew what his mother was trying to tell him without the words being said. His father was dead. He would never see the man alive again. He would never have a chance to make amends or find a way to prove to him that his life wasn't completely meaningless. It was funny though, Greg couldn't remember ever feeling the need to do those things before. He guessed it wasn't just dying people who made startling yet idiotic revelations about their lives.

The rest of the conversation was a blur. None of it really mattered. He pretended to listen carefully as his mother spouted off pointless information that she deemed important but House really didn't care to hear. As his mother continued, House meticulously avoided Wilson's concerned gaze while focusing his own eyes on a random area on the wall outside his glass enclosure, trying, unsuccessfully, to make reality disappear.

It was his mother's concerned voice that pulled him back to Earth, as she became worried over his lack of response. Greg reassured her he was fine, made sure she was okay, then hung up with a promise to talk to her again soon. Still intentionally keeping his eyes from even glancing in Wilson's direction, House grabbed his cane and leaned into it as he stood, his legs feeling inexplicably weaker than he could ever remember, before snagging his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging it on hastily, throwing his backpack over his shoulder, and starting for the door.

"What's going on?" James questioned despite House's obvious aversion. House did not break his stride, passing by his friend without acknowledgement. He didn't want to answer the question. It was as if saying it would make it all real. But things that weren't real had no meaning; they were worthless. Gregory House had no time for meaningless fiction, and his father's life was not worthless.

"My father had a heart attack," he responded emotionlessly as he pulled the office door open. "He's dead."

Wilson gave no response as House let the door close of its own accord behind him as he made his way toward the elevator but instead followed his friend wordlessly. Brown met blue for only half a second as James entered the compartment Greg had been waiting in, and House's stomach lurched at the bolt of sympathy and concern that shot from Wilson's mahogany to his own cerulean eyes. The older man held his breath, waiting for the inevasible thunder, but it never came. The rest of his friend's face and body betrayed the illusion that such a contact had been made as they faced the elevator doors, shoulder to shoulder in the familiar silence.

The days that followed had passed much like any other. They would still take refuge in each other's office when being a grown up would suddenly seem like a bad idea, eat lunch together in the cafeteria or out on the terrace, and hang out at home when work was finally over watching _The Lord of the Rings _again and again in a continuity of their attempt to set a world record for the highest number of times two people could watch it in a month. So far there scores were: thirty-four times for _The Fellowship of the Ring_,thirty-eight for _The Two Towers_, and they were up to twenty-four in their viewings of _The Return of the King_. Yes, day to day life had remained the same, but House – House had not.

James Wilson was no stranger to death. It was something that surrounded him on a daily basis. More patients died in his department than in any other – a fact he was aware of going in. He also had a large, close-knit family filled with aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, nieces and nephews, parents, and grandparents. In James' short life he had already been forced to endure the deaths of four grandparents, one aunt, two uncles, and, most recently, his young cousin. He had by now excepted that at some point those closest to him would die and found it less and less difficult to deal with as more and more loved ones perished. Wilson knew that becoming so numb probably wasn't the appropriate emotional response, but he had found that the cold could lessen the pain.

The same could not be said for Gregory House. Unlike his friend, House was not all that familiar with death. His patients simply did not die. Wilson could count the number of times House had lost a patient in the time he'd known him on his fingers…maybe even one hand. His family could almost be described as the exact opposite of Wilson's. House had no aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, or nieces and nephews. His father's parents had passed away before Greg was born, and his mother's parents died within the first year of his life. It had been his motto from the beginning of his career to never get close to a patient – a pledge he had only broken once a long time ago. In fact, if he really thought about it, House had never before experienced the pain of a loved one's death. So, inevitably, his father's passing had hit him hard, and he hated it.

He hated the gaze filled with sadness and sympathy that Cameron now constantly watched him with, hated Chase's words of empathy that he knew any better man would appreciate; hated Foreman's silent understanding and sudden overwhelming tolerance. He hated the low, soft tone in which Cuddy now addressed him as she encouraged him to take as much time as he needed; hated that he felt no compulsion to respond with a sarcastic borderline sexually harassing comment and instead merely nodded slowly before offering a quiet; "Thank you." He hated that Wilson did nothing for House to hate; hated that the man knew exactly what to say and do at exactly the right moment. House wanted to hate. By definition, hatred is the strongest emotion one can ever feel. It can block out all other feeling until your numb, and that was what he wanted – not to feel.

However, as he sat uncomfortably in the front pew of the church with his father's open casket lying only a few feet away, House quickly realized that the human body has no gating mechanism for extreme emotional pain. There are some feelings that even the deepest hatred cannot mask. And as he sat and listened broken-heartedly to his mother's quiet sobs, holding her hand gently in his own, he even began to entertain the idea that grief may be even more powerful than hatred. In fact, though he would never admit it, the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a leaking ball of sadness like his mom was Wilson.

The younger man sat next to him in silent support, acting as House's rock and speaking only to thank fellow mourners who offered Greg their sympathy and well-wishes as House was unable to. If James had noticed the unshed tears that swam in his best friend's eyes, he never let on. He never attempted to offer comfort with empty words or a pat on the back, but he didn't so much as flinch when Greg suddenly closed the distance between their hands as they watched the casket close over John House's still body. He simply enclosed House's callused fingers in his own and squeezed gently, never looking away from the activity at the front of the church.

"Promise me something," House spoke quietly under his breath so that only Wilson could hear.

"Okay," James replied in an equally soft voice.

"Don't let them put me in one of those," Greg continued. For the first time since they'd sat down, Wilson turned his head to look at his friend, slightly taken aback by the unexpected request. House continued to stare fixedly at the now closed coffin, but he knew that Wilson would easily recognize the carefully masked fear in his eyes. James slowly followed House's gaze to where the group of men, most of them in full marine dress uniform, were preparing to lift the hollow death box.

"I promise," he said firmly, giving House's hand another squeeze. He needed no more explanation as to what his friend was asking. James could see in his eyes the overwhelming fear of being trapped in death as he once was in life; the fear of the knowledge that at the end of the day the body helplessly trapped within the confines of that dark and feeble crate meant nothing more than a really good day for a bunch of worms. "So long as you do the same for me," he continued after a moment. House half-smirked instinctively.

"Won't have to worry about it," he said dismissively. "I'm an older, crippled, former drug addict. I'll go first."

"Maybe," Wilson replied thoughtfully. "Life is full of surprises."

"Surprises suck," House complained.

"Sometimes," James agreed as they stood for the procession.

The cemetery in which John House was to be buried was practically the church's backyard. For this, Greg House was eternally grateful. This meant no ominous black hearse waiting in the shadows; no long slow drive in agonizing silence. They were already there. It was almost over. So for twenty more minutes they stood in a semi-circle around a hole and a really expensive box as the preacher Greg recognized as the one his father had insisted he allow to baptize him over thirty-five years ago quoted what House was sure were probably some very heart-felt passages from the Bible, and his mother continued to choke out what were now very unrestrained heart-broken sobs while squeezing her son's left hand with surprising strength. House squeezed back comfortingly, wondering vaguely if anyone but her would cry for him in such a way after his death, only letting go as a nameless soldier offered her the neatly folded American flag because he knew that Wilson stood faithfully at her other side, gently holding her left hand in his right.

Some emotion that fell somewhere between grief and relief filled House's senses as they finally began to lower his father's coffin into the ground, and he cursed himself for jumping slightly as a group of marines fired their rifles at the unsuspecting clouds that hovered innocently above them. His right leg was cursing him as well as he shifted his weight a little more to the left and hoped that no one had noticed his uncharacteristic reaction to the traditional salute.

When the other attendants began filing out one by one, his mother hugged James lovingly then took Greg's hand again and led him off to the side. She appeared slightly troubled and unsure, but who wouldn't be after their husband's funeral? Once they had finished speaking, Greg led her to her car and offered for the third time to allow Wilson and him to give her a ride home. She declined once again, reminded him that they would be late for their flight, kissed his cheek, and got into her car. House stood in place and watched her drive until she was out of sight before turning back to find Wilson.

He frowned slightly as he saw the younger man was still lurking near the burial site, examining the various headstones that surrounded his father's. Sighing wearily, House walked over and stood behind him.

"Find anything interesting?" he questioned in his usual tone.

"Your whole family is buried here," Wilson replied, his eyes still lingering on the carved marble below him.

"Actually, only half. My mom's family has their own little plot in Indiana somewhere. Cincinnati's reserved for House's only," House corrected, really not wanting to have this conversation.

"Huh. Who's Emma?" James questioned. Not expecting the question, House turned to see his friend crouched down in front of the headstone directly to the right of his father's. It read:

Emma Elizabeth House 

Beloved Daughter and Sister

12/25/68 – 6/11/74

"My sister," he responded, hanging his head slightly at the memories Wilson had unwittingly sent crashing back.

"You never told me you had a sister," Wilson said, looking very surprised.

"I guess we're even then," House replied shortly, wanting this conversation to end.

"She was so young," James half-whispered to no one. "Not even six. She – she died on your birthday?" The younger man finally looked up. House hesitated. He wanted nothing more than for Wilson to drop the subject. He had just barely made it through his father's funeral. Now, all he wanted to do was to get on the plane, get back to their apartment, and pretend none of this had ever happened. But Wilson had that look in his eyes – that curious, confused, and mildly sad kicked puppy look that House could never seem to deny.

"Yeah, my fourteenth," he confirmed, almost monotone, stepping closer to the marble memorial.

"What happened to her?" James questioned carefully.

"She got sick," House answered shortly, effectively ending the conversation. Wilson got the message, but House knew the discussion was merely put on hold – just like all the others. "Come on," he said, taking Wilson's hand as the younger man stood – more of an excuse to hold his hand then to actually help him stand. "We've got a plane to catch."

End Chapter 5! I hope you all enjoyed it! Chapter 6 is coming soon!


	6. What was I supposed to say?

Nine hours, twenty-seven minutes, and twelve seconds after their plane landed safely back in New Jersey, House realized he had forgotten to tell Wilson something very important. However, what that thing was had by that time become a mystery to his self as well. 'Oh, well. I guess it wasn't that important.' He had thought to himself before shrugging and pressing the call button for the elevator.

"Good morning, children!" House exclaimed as he skated into the conference room, coming to a halt next to the whiteboard, smirking when he saw the newly begun game of hangman that was currently its only decoration. "Were you all good for Auntie Lisa while mommy and daddy were away?"

"What are you doing here?" asked Cameron. Her voice was full of concern, but House didn't miss the glare she shot at Wilson as he watched from outside the glass wall. Quickly looking up and away from her, Wilson took this as his cue to leave and continued to his own office.

"I work here," House responded, ignoring the silent exchange. "Or at least I think I do. The acid I scored from that cheap hooker last night is still wearing off. I have no idea where I am!" His eyes widened in exaggeration.

"Now is that any way to talk about Wilson?" Chase asked jokingly from where he stood on the opposite side of the whiteboard. All eyes went him.

"Oh snap, girlfriend!" House replied sarcastically. Foreman smirked, but Cameron did not look amused. "I see you've been keeping busy." He waved a hand toward the whiteboard. As he did, out of the corner of his eye he spotted Wilson stepping out onto their joined balcony, his sleeves rolled up and an apple in his left hand. Oddly, House found himself unable to look away.

"Yeah, well no new cases. This beats crosswords and the clinic," Foreman explained. House paid no attention.

"House, why are you here?" Cameron questioned once more, impatience beginning to show in her voice. Still he did not respond, somehow transfixed by the way Wilson slowly bit into the crimson fruit, the way he wiped the sweet juice that ran smoothly down his chin away before gently sucking and licking it off the side of his wrist. It wasn't as though it was something he had never noticed before, but he had always been discreet – never letting his gaze linger for more than a few seconds when no one was looking. But things were different now. Although they had officially been "together" for nearly two weeks, House had yet to really see what lied underneath those layers that his new "boyfriend" (he really needed to find a better word than that) constantly piled on. In fact, they'd never even kissed. It wasn't a mystery why, though. As long as they continued the way they were, it was just Wilson staying at his place again – their sleep arrangement being the only big change. But if they were to take that next step, to become physically involved, to share that connection, their entire lives would change for real. Nothing would ever be the same, and he wasn't completely sure that he was ready to take that step. Wilson was the only thing House had to lose.

"Uh, Earth to House," Foreman waved his hands, his smirk growing as he was endlessly entertained by this entire situation.

"What?" House questioned, turning back to face them. "Sorry. I was completely ignoring you." He spoke casually, no apology in his tone.

"Yeah, we noticed," Chase responded, looking out at Wilson before turning back to House again.

"Distracted much?" Foreman asked sardonically, almost shaking with suppressed laughter.

"I believe someone not Chase or Dr. Giggles asked me a question?"

"Yeah," Cameron said. "I asked why you were here."

"I thought I already answered that question," House replied in mock thoughtfulness.

"Seriously," continued the exasperated woman. "I mean, your father just –"

"I'm aware," House interrupted. "However, there's nothing I can do sitting around doing nothing at home that I can't do sitting around and doing nothing here."

"You mean besides Wilson," it was Foreman's turn to snark this time. House smirked back at him.

"Well, yes, I have to admit the view is infinitely better," House this time gave a fake longing look toward the balcony, gaining laughter from two out of three ducklings. Cameron, of course, continued to be unamused by their antics. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a hooker to repay."

"Well, do us all a favor and take it to _his _office," Foreman suggested as House opened the door to his own.

"And deny Cameron the chance to watch? Surely you jest!" he spoke as the door closed behind him. Foreman smirked and looked down, avoiding the woman's gaze, and Chase reopened his marker to continue their game. House then popped his head back into the room. "Oh, and the answer is recurrent respiratory papillomatosis."

"How did you –" Chase began in disbelief, looking at the board where only the letter "a?" had been guessed so far.

"Magic," House responded before making his way out onto the balcony.

"I can't believe you two are laughing!" the appalled Cameron addressed Chase and Foreman.

"Cameron, how is House dating Wilson not funny?" Foreman replied, his smirk as wide as ever.

"Yeah, he was practically drooling," Chase agreed, taking his seat across from Cameron.

"For one, it's none of our business. And two, his father just died!" she defended.

"So what would you have him do? Curl up on the couch at home, watch the Lifetime network and cry?" Chase questioned.

"No, I just think it would be better for him if he took some more time. I mean, he just got the call out of the blue; no time to prepare, no reason to believe anything was wrong –"

"Gee, I can't imagine how he must feel," Chase responded sarcastically. Cameron bit her tongue. "You know, it's funny, I don't remember you going all 'protective mother hen' on me when _my_ dad died _out of the blue_." Cameron's mouth went agape, wanting to speak but at a loss for words.

"Huh. And here I thought you were over House," Foreman added in mock thoughtfulness. "Even picking out his wardrobe; doing his hair and makeup for his big date with Dr. Love."

"I'm just worried, is all," was the woman's unconvincing reply. Chase and Foreman looked at each other then back at Cameron.

"Sure," they said in unison, equal disbelief clear in their voices.

"Hey," House said casually as he stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

"Hey," Wilson greeted in his usual 'slightly more cheerful than House' voice.

"Didn't we already have breakfast?" House questioned rhetorically, nodding his head toward the half-eaten apple as he leaned against the far wall of the balcony at its closest point to Wilson's side.

"One, yes. But this is my second breakfast," Wilson grinned, doing his best to match House's impressive ability to speak with a flawless Scottish accent, and failing miserably.

"Okay, that's my joke, and Pippin is not Bulgarian," House replied with a smirk.

"Fine. So I was still a little hungry," James relented.

"Liar," House responded immediately, pointing a finger toward the other man. "You eat a lot when you're worried or nervous. Something's got you edgy. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Wilson answered a little too quickly, not believing he was blowing off House while the man was in one of his rare 'I actually feel like talking, sort of' moods. "As unbelievable as it may sound, one does tend to suffer from a certain amount of hunger after watching their so called 'best friend' eat every last pancake that they bothered to wake up early to cook."

"That is so incredibly not true, it isn't even funny," House's smirk grew. Wilson shifted his weight. "Really, it's not. Either you're losing your touch or you weren't even trying. I saw you scarf down at least three of those divine little circles before we left."

"You really wanna know?" James questioned skeptically.

"No. But I've learned from experience that such an answer tends to upset the little lady, so I decided to give the opposite response a try. Now will you cut the crap and just tell me?" House replied, annoyance slowing making its way into his voice. The oncologist studied him for a moment before nodding and responding.

"It's the people here," he began.

"What about 'em?" House urged him on.

"You haven't been getting any strange looks from anyone on staff or heard comments that may or may not have been subtle insults as you walked past?"

"You mean more than usual?" House half-joked.

"House, I'm being serious. I didn't say anything before because I thought it was all in my head, but now –"

"You're kidding, right?" House replied. "You really are turning into a woman. You're about to cry over a couple of insults and a glare. If, you were so concerned, you probably should have thought about it before you decided to date your bestest buddy."

"Right," Wilson huffed.

"That's the way people are, Wilson. Welcome to my world," House told him before taking the apple from the other man's hand, licking around the uneaten portion, then taking a bite from where Wilson had previously bitten. Handing the fruit back wordlessly, House made his way back inside the hospital, leaving Wilson to contemplate exactly what he meant by that.

Sitting down in the chair behind his desk, House saw his subordinates sitting in their usual seats around the conference table, but none of them were speaking nor did they look very happy. He wondered vaguely what had occurred in his time outside to change the mood of the two men and make Cameron shut up. Shrugging, he decided he didn't care. Instead, he concentrated on what had just occurred out on the balcony. House had never given any thought to how Wilson would react when he outted them to the hospital. Being his usual self, he hadn't seen the big deal and simply couldn't wait to see the looks on his colleagues' faces when he told them the news. He figured sure a few nurses and an accountant or two would have their little hearts broken, but that only meant it would be easier to keep them away from Wilson.

However, the oncologist's reaction had brought him back to reality. James had never lived in House's world. Society respected him as a man, women always wanted to be with him, men wanted to be him; even patients adored him. And just by simply being himself, House had ruined all of that…well, at least most of it. But Wilson hadn't blamed him. The man hadn't even implied that it was House's fault, when both of them knew it was. He had excepted it; just kept on eating that apple. Leave it to Wilson to make an unhealthy habit look healthy.

House's mind then wandered to that apple. In truth, he had absolutely no idea way he had molested the poor defenseless fruit in such a way. It wasn't really fair, was it? He thereupon recalled a comment that Wilson had made about Stacy not all that long ago. _"She sounds confused, but I don't think she is. I think she's waiting for you to do something; show her you're serious." _Was that what Wilson was doing now? Waiting for him to do something. James had obviously shown House just how serious _he _was the night of their dinner. The man had even used the "L" word (the actual word, not the show). Now, that he thought about it, James had actually kissed him…several times as a matter of fact. But they weren't real kisses. After all, their lips had never touched, but it was something. It was a big something. Suddenly House felt very inadequate. All he'd done to show his "affection" was buy some food and Tivo a cheesy romantic-comedy. Damn, he really sucked at this whole "romance" thing. What had he gotten himself into?

As the day went on, House found himself feeling oddly self-conscious. Every comment and every look he would have previously ignored or simply not noticed at all from the majority of the staff stood out like a bum leg. He wondered if this was anything like the way Wilson was now feeling. Whatever it was, he didn't enjoy it, and spent most of his time "working" the clinic attempting to figure out exactly how long he could take this behavior before punching someone out.

Five hours, nine minutes, and thirty-seven seconds after House remembered he'd forgotten something, he suddenly remembered what it was he forgot.

"Ready to go?" House asked, sticking his head into Wilson's office.

"It's only three o'clock," Wilson responded, looking up from his paperwork.

"Yeah, but we've got stuff to do. And we can still get away with it while the hormonally imbalanced women are still pitying me. Come on," House urged. Wilson sighed.

"I still have work to do," he protested.

"Patients? Consults?" House questioned.

"Paper work. While some people pass it off to their hormonally imbalanced lackeys, others take the initiative to do it themselves. It's called responsibility. You wouldn't understand," James countered.

"Plenty of time for that later. We have to get things ready now," House insisted.

"Ready for what?" Wilson asked, having no idea what the other man was talking about.

"My mom," House replied.

"Your mom?" continued the very confused oncologist.

"Yeah, she's coming to stay with us for a while. Should arrive sometime tomorrow, actually. I told you that, didn't I?" the diagnostician said casually, knowing full well that he had not.

"No, you didn't," Wilson responded slowly, not believing his ears. "Since when was this happening?"

"She asked me at the funeral if it would be okay," House explained. "She doesn't wanna live in that big house alone now that dad's gone. Don't freak out. She's only staying until she can find a place around here."

"Which could take weeks," Wilson reminded him. "Even months."

"She's my mother. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, mom, but my boyfriend likes it rough.' The woman's a human lie detector; she'd know you were the gentle type."

"House, please. You're mother doesn't even know about us yet. How did you plan on telling her? Wait until dark and let her see us head to the same bed?" Wilson asked. House looked thoughtful.

"It was on the list," he answered. Wilson sighed again, stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and pulled it on.

"Fine, we'll leave now. But you are going to tell her about this _before_ she ends up figuring it out on her own," James relented. House grinned.

"You've got a deal," he responded. "Now let's get out of here."

YAY! Chapter 6 is finally up! Hope you enjoyed it! I regret not thanking all of you reviewers personally, but you are all the greatest! Next chapter will be up as soon as I can transfer it from paper to computer!


	7. Super secret spy stuff

Seventeen minutes and forty-one seconds after House convinced Wilson to cut the day short, the younger man discovered one of House's most closely guarded secrets.

"You have a spare room?" Wilson questioned needlessly as he stood in the doorway, staring in utter disbelief. When they'd arrived back at the apartment, House handed him a key and told him to open the door on the opposite side of their bedroom – a room that Wilson had always believed to be an extra closet. As a matter of fact, the reason he had always assumed this was that House himself had told him so. In hindsight, he supposed it was a fairly stupid idea to trust House's word on such a thing.

"Yep. You didn't know that?" House asked casually while dumping his things on the floor near the front door.

"Of course I did. I just always slept on your old, hard, lumpy, beer, taco, and now urine stained couch to build up my endurance," Wilson responded sarcastically. House smirked. "Why would you keep this from me?"

"Because my couch is old, hard, lumpy, beer, taco, and pee stained," House responded simply as he made his way over to stand behind him. Wilson gave him a look.

"Of course," James nodded defeatedly. "I nearly forgot how entertaining my pain is."

"Actually, the couch wasn't for entertainment purposes," House corrected. "I just wanted to see how long you'd be willing to sleep on it just so you could stay here with me."

"You were making me suffer through all those nights on that thing simply so you could measure how long it would take for me to get fed up and move out?" Wilson said slowly, trying to work out his friend's twisted logic.

"Nope. I made you _suffer _through all those long nights simply so I could see how long it would take for you to get fed up and move _into _my bed," House amended once again. Wilson gave another look, but this time there was amusement in the glare.

"Right. So what exactly did you want me to do? The room looks fine to me," Wilson got back on track.

"It is," House agreed. "Your maid made it up nice and pretty before she found a new job."

"Then why did we come home so early?"

"Because I lied."

"You lied?"

"Yep. Mom's plane should arrive in about twenty minutes. She left a message on my cell phone before she took off," House elaborated. "Turns out it has an answering machine. There were messages you left three years ago on that thing."

"Whoa ho ho, hold on a second!" Wilson stopped the other man's rambling. "Did you just say your mom's coming in today?"

"Yeah, and I need you to go pick her up," House affirmed.

"Why me?" Wilson questioned.

"Cause I have stuff to do, and I don't want you around while I'm doing it," House answered cryptically.

"What stuff?"

"Super secret spy stuff," House responded sarcastically. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Fine. Don't tell me," Wilson relented, holding his hand out for the car keys. House placed them in his hand wordlessly. "I'll be back in an hour. I expect you'll be here?"

"Count on it," House agreed as Wilson opened the front door. "Take your time though." He added as the door closed. House waited until he heard the car start and Wilson pull away before grabbing his bike keys and helmet and heading back the way he came.

Thirty-four minutes and sixteen seconds after Wilson left the apartment, he was on his way back home with three suitcases in the trunk, and Blythe House riding shotgun.

"Mrs. House, I can't tell you enough how sorry I am. House told me I had twenty minutes," Wilson repeated for what was probably the twentieth time since he had arrived at the airport to find House's mother standing at the payphone (no doubt calling House's apartment) with three heavy suitcases sitting at her feet and looking extremely concerned. James practically ran over to her, apologizing profusely for his tardiness, picking up the two heaviest bags, and escorting her to the car. Blythe had seemed rather surprised to see Wilson instead of Greg, but she had greeted him warmly and assured him that his lateness was no problem.

"Oh, James, for the last time it's perfectly all right," Mrs. House assured him once more. "I'm use to my son's sense of time by now. Or rather lack there of." Wilson let out a short laugh.

"Yeah, well, I still feel bad about it," he explained.

"Oh, you always have been such a worrier," Blythe smiled. "But I'm use to being late. Between Greg and John, we were lucky to get anywhere less than ten minutes after we were suppose to arrive." She let out a small, sad laugh, and Wilson felt suddenly uncomfortable.

The rest of the ride went on in silence. Mrs. House was quiet for the loss of what to say and Wilson uncomfortable knowing the conversation that awaited at home. In truth, he was beginning to feel bad about this whole thing. Blythe probably had no idea about his and House's true relationship. Why would she? Wilson had stayed with House many times before, and they had given her no reason to suspect that this time was any different.

As they pulled up in front of the apartment, Wilson inwardly noted that House's bike was parked much closer to the door than when he'd left, and James had to pull around and park further up. As he lifted Blythe's bags from the trunk, he tried to imagine exactly what it was that House had blown off his own mother to do.

"House, were here! Come and carry your mothers things!" Wilson called out light-heartedly, not wanting House's mother to think she had inconvenienced him in any way.

"Hang on a second! You've gotta see this!" the other man called from what sounded like the kitchen.

"If it's another skateboard trick you're in trouble. The apartment is not a skate park, remember?" Wilson scolded playfully. Blythe gave a small grin. House gave no verbal answer.

Instead, he chose to **run **out of the kitchen, leap over the arm of the couch, bounce off the cushions, over the sofa arm, and land flawlessly in front of Blythe and Wilson just inside the doorway.

"What do you think? I'd give that a nine at least!" House exclaimed in his version of excitement. Blythe, who had put a hand over her mouth as she watched the unbelievable display, lowered her hand enough to speak audibly.

"Oh, Greg!" she spoke in a shocked half-whisper.

"Cool, huh?" he questioned rhetorically.

"House, what –" Wilson began slowly.

"It's a brace," House interrupted, pulling up his right pant leg. "The PT guy suggested it. I thought it sounded pretty sweet, so I've been trying it out for the last week or so."

"Wait, let me get this straight. You, the great Gregory 'I'm a maniacal genius and everyone else has chopped ass for brains' House, not only willingly agreed to get a brace for your leg but did so only after the physical therapist, that you told me you had never actually seen, told you to?" Wilson worked out slowly.

"He did not _tell _me to, he suggested," House corrected. "And why are you so shocked? The only reason I didn't have one before is because it just made the leg hurt worse. No pain no cane, right? Solves all our problems. Plus, I can do this," he took off at top speed to the opposite side of the room, jumped and spun back around, bouncing off the wall with his right foot, then ran back over to them. Before anyone could say another word, Blythe began to laugh. There was no real reason for this specific reaction, and yet she could not contain herself. House turned to her, looking mildly surprised and raising an eyebrow, before smiling broadly.

This was no ordinary smile. There were no lines of pain or worry etched in his features; no sarcasm or smug superiority gleaming in his eyes. There was only happiness. Wilson hadn't remembered how much he had missed this look until that moment. He hadn't seen such an expression on his best friend's face in over six years. Focusing all of his energy on calming the inappropriate feelings that the spectacle provoked, James didn't notice that he was smiling back. However, he was the only one.

"Oh, honey, I'm so proud of you!" Blythe exclaimed as she pulled her son into a loving embrace.

"Thanks, mom," House replied softly, returning the hug automatically.

"You seem so happy," Blythe continued to smile whole-heartedly as she broke the embrace but kept her arms around Greg's waist. Watching the two of them, Wilson knew where House got his smile.

"I'll never be happy, mom, House began while looking into her eyes. He then turned his head toward Wilson, saw the other man's smile, and a new emotion began to sparkle in his electric blue eyes. "But I'm as close as I'll ever be."

Mrs. House studied the expression on her son's face. It was one she knew well but on another man's face. In Greg's eyes she could see John; the same look in those cerulean eyes as he watched her saunter down the stairs toward him, sixteen-years-old, on their first date. She saw John grinning like a fool as she strode down the aisle, a bouquet of yellow roses in her hands. She could see John as he lovely observed her as she sang their baby boy to sleep. And, as she followed Greg's gaze, in James' eyes she saw herself smiling back. It was in this instant that realization struck.

Blythe let out a small gasp, barely noticeable to anyone who wasn't looking for it. However, she knew the boys had heard as James started and turned his head quickly to the left, and Greg's smile faded into a grin as his gaze slowly shifted to the floor. She watched James as he shifted uncomfortably, looking increasingly nervous as the seconds passed. She then turned her focus back to Greg whom, to her surprise, was beginning to look nearly as anxious as James did. For only a moment she mirrored her son's pose, looking down at her feet with her mind racing, before turning to Greg and holding her head high.

"I understand, son," she smiled in the most encouraging way she could manage, still unsure of her own feelings but not wanting Greg to believe she was disappointed in him. "I'm happy for you both."

Both young men looked up at her quickly, obviously not expecting this response.

"You are?" House asked before realizing an even bigger question. "Wait how did you know –?"

"I'm your mother. I just know these things," Blythe replied, still smiling convincingly.

"So you're not angry? Disappointed? Ashamed…?" House continued his questioning as Wilson remained silent.

"You know I could never be ashamed or disappointed in you," Blythe responded almost too quickly, remembering how Greg had been since his infarction. She watched her son endure life in misery, powerless to offer anything more than brief moments of comfort. "And of course I'm not angry," she continued, now looking to Wilson as he continued to let his eyes wander anxiously. But then there was James. James who cut his own honeymoon short to be with Greg through his expected tragedy. James who hadn't given up; who'd stayed by his best friend's side when no one else would. It was James who brightened the light in her only son's eyes and made him smile and laugh when others could not. It was James who'd made that phone call those few weeks ago, fighting with everything he had not to cry and ultimately failing, as he gently broke the news of yet another tragedy that had befallen her beautiful blue-eyed boy.

Finally Wilson looked up, tremulous brown locking with reassuring green. The depth of emotion visible in the young man's eyes had always been a startling sight to behold, but this time it took her breath away. In place of the love and happiness that had been present moments before, Blythe saw fear dominating within the seemingly endless depths, and she was taken aback. For the first time since they had met, she saw that the fear that she had seen in the young oncologist's eyes as he fretted over Greg or even one of his own patients he was now feeling for himself, and it broke her heart somehow, the knowledge that she was the one who put it there. Suddenly the situation began to overwhelm her, and Blythe tried to fix it in the only way she knew. Closing the distance between them, she reached up and pulled Wilson into a motherly hug, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to assure that he could hear her clearly. Wilson returned the embrace instinctively, no stranger to her arms.

"James, honey, you stop all this worrying," she told him softly. "You've always been like a son to me. And John too. It's just official now." She allowed herself a small laugh, hoping to ease some of the tension.

"Thank you," Wilson whispered back. Mrs. House pulled away from him slowly, careful to never allow her cheerful disposition falter.

"Now, who's hungry? I'll make dinner," she offered cheerfully. Wilson opened his mouth to protest, but House beat him to it.

"Oh, no you won't. You forget this isn't Cincinnati. You're now living with one of New Jersey's premier chefs," House explained with a mischievous grin.

"I didn't know you could cook," Blythe told Wilson with a smile. James smiled back, nervous for a new reason now.

"Of course he can! The man blow dries his hair, paints his toenails, and uses strawberry scented shampoo. Domesticity comes second nature," House confirmed for him.

"I do not paint my toenails!" Wilson denied quickly. House gave him a disbelieving look. "It's nail _strengthener_, okay? It's not polish."

"Yeah," House said in a slow, drawn out way. "That's why it's hot pink."

"That was one time!" James still tried to defend himself but quickly realized what a futile argument it was. "Fine. Your wish is my command." He gave a dramatic bow and started for the kitchen. "Any requests?"

"I was thinking something along the line of Macadamia nut pancakes," House spoke in a contemplative voice.

"It's dinner time," Wilson said as he stuck his head back around the corner.

"Fine. We'll go for pasta," House looked to his mother who nodded in agreement. "But I expect some of the aforementioned nutty goodness bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Oh, why's that?" Wilson questioned as sounds of pots and pans being moved around began to resonate from the room.

"Because you and I are going on the longest run we've had since college." Both Wilson and Blythe smiled to themselves, unnoticed.

"Oh, really? And how long might that be?" James asked, trying to remember where he'd put the tomato sauce.

"Oh, only about seven, eight miles," House replied casually. A loud crash from the kitchen was the only response, and Blythe laughed inwardly to herself. She could definitely get use to days like this.

YAY! Chapter 7 is finally up! I'll try not to take so long with number 8. Since I have not been able to thank you all individually for your kind and helpful reviews, I would like to give a quick shout out to:

RNwannabe, Anita, Rolling Thunder 420, xMaddhatterx, TurboNerd, The Swordsman, Izzfrogger, HouseMD.HuGh LaUrIe, bedlam55, Nina, Kagii, James Wilson, lostinsidesaveme, Saji, and Crowely Black! You have all been so wonderful! I'm only sorry I haven't gotten the chance to thank you individually! Thanks a lot you guys!


	8. I want to ask you

Five days, seven hours, four minutes, and nineteen seconds after she moved in, Blythe House laid awake in her bedroom. Although it was late, she couldn't sleep. She was still unsure as to how she was supposed to feel about all of this. She had been raised in a fairly strong Christian setting, and even though her parents were good and kind people, this sort of thing simply was not tolerated. Blythe herself had not carried on the overly religious ways of her parents, and she had never had any real problems with homosexuality. But now that it was affecting her directly, it was _her_ son that was seeing another man, she was becoming nervous. Watching Greg and James together these past few days had eased many of her fears and reservations. They belonged with each other, there was no denying that. But she knew there would be hard times ahead for her boys. Although we'd come along way, American society as a whole was not particularly tolerant, and life was already tough enough.

It was at this moment that Blythe made a silent oath. No matter what happened or what others thought or said, she would do everything in her power to protect her boys from the cruelty of the world. She was Greg's mother after all, and over the years James had become a surrogate son of sorts. It was her responsibility to shelter her children. She had already failed at this once, and she did not intend to allow herself to do so again. A wave of exhaustion swept over her as her body remembered its age, and she slowly allowed sleep to claim her.

The peaceful silence of the night was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door breaking open. House awoke instantly, sitting up straight as he attempted to slow his rapidly beating heart.

"Wilson, wake up," he whispered sharply, shaking the other man's shoulder.

"House? What's going on?" Wilson asked sleepily, wiping at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself.

"Did you hear that?" he turned on the lamp.

"Hear what? Huh?"

"I think someone's in the house."

"It's probably just your mother. Go back to sleep," Wilson groaned, sleep beginning to pull him back under.

"No. No, it's not –" House had no time to finish as the bedroom door swung open. House's heart dropped into his stomach as he instantly recognized the smug face of the mousy intruder. Wilson sat straight up next to him, his hand immediately gripping House's forearm.

"What do you want?" Wilson spoke when House couldn't.

"Dr. Wilson?" the intruder questioned neutrally.

"I – yes," James answered tentatively. House inwardly cringed. Why hadn't he said no? The intruder smirked menacingly and turned his gaze to Greg.

"Say goodnight, Dr. House," his smirk grew, revealing his yellowish teeth, and before anything could be said or done, the madman raised his revolver and fired.

House nearly jumped out of bed at the shock, but this time he felt no pain. Terror seized every inch of his being as he realized that he had not been the target of the crazed gunman this time around. Quickly turning to his left, he saw Wilson lying beside him, deep crimson spreading in an ever-growing stain on his white nightshirt. Panicking, House threw the blankets to the side and leaned over him, pulling James' shirt up above his stomach. His heart was beating at a painfully rapid pace as he grabbed the bed sheet and pressed it firmly into Wilson's abdomen, desperately trying to stem the rapid blood loss. James looked up at House with fear in his eyes as he gasped for breath, but his grip on the other man's arm never loosened.

"Oh, God," Greg whispered softly. "Hang in there, James! You just stay with me!" He spoke loud and clear now, keeping his eyes locked with Wilson's.

"House –" Wilson choked out as his body began to shake.

"Shh. I'm here. I've got you," House reassured him, trying not to sound frantic.

"Hurts –" the younger man sobbed, hand spasmodically clenching around House's arm.

"I know. Just breathe. Breathe through it," House tried to keep him calm.

"I lo –" James began, cut off by a harsh fit of coughing. Greg cringed at the liquid sound of it then cursed as blood came up, pouring out of Wilson's mouth, choking him.

"Damn it!" What do you want from me?" House demanded as he pulled Wilson into his lap, doing everything in his power to ease the young man's breathing.

"I want you to suffer," the madman replied, emotionless aside from the familiar pride in his eyes. House's eyes widened in total disbelief of the man's insanity. "I want you to watch him die, knowing you killed him."

Any response from House was cut off as Wilson's body stiffened in his arms. His chest was heaving, but no air seemed to be entering. The grip on House's arm tightened painfully as Wilson panicked. House wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch James' face, run a hand through his hair, do something to ease the man's suffering. But he couldn't. His hands were already soaked in the oncologist's blood, coating them in a gruesome living metaphor. All he could do was whisper softly, reassuringly in his dying lover's ear, knowing there was nothing more he could do as Wilson's body grew colder. Slowly, the gasping breaths grew weaker, the grip on his arm began to slack, and brown eyes closed for the last time.

House made no attempt to stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks as he pulled Wilson closer. He clutched his lover's body to him as if by doing so he could shield him from the hands of death; maybe death would take him instead. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.

"You son of a bitch!" House screamed at the gunman as he began to rock back and forth slightly. "You killed him! He hasn't done anything wrong! Why would you do this?"

"No, you killed him, House. We both know the only reason you were with him was that he was everything you're not; everything you wish you could be. You wanted that, so you took it. And you would have sucked every last bit of it out of him just so you could get that high feeling it gives you. You knew he needed to be needed, and you took advantage. You told him you needed him, and he opened up his arms. Yet, in return, all you gave was pain. He gave you love, and you absorbed it all selfishly without a second thought to giving even a little back," the intruder taunted.

"I love him," House whispered, helpless under the knife of the words.

"You held the gun. You pulled the trigger," the madman continued.

"No," House protested, burying his face in Wilson's hair. A bone-chilling click resonated throughout the room as the killer cocked his gun. House lifted his head slowly, watching the balding man through red, swollen, bleary eyes.

"Don't worry, Dr. House. I want you to live," the gunman grinned insanely as he pointed his weapon directly at Greg's right thigh and fired.

Thunder crashed in a deafening roar as House sat straight up in bed, letting out a muffled yelp as both hands automatically clutched at his thigh. Disoriented, he tried to shake the sleep out of his head and calm his excessively accelerated heart rate. Lightning flashed through the windows as he slowly removed his hands from his leg, realizing that there was nothing wrong. He could feel a small, dull twinge, but it faded as quickly as it had come. Shifting quickly, he turned to Wilson, the bloody images of his nightmare still fresh in his mind. Lightning flashed again, and the younger man's figure was momentarily illuminated. House let out a relieved sigh as he saw no red marring the crisp white of Wilson's favorite nightshirt. He laid his hand on the oncologist's chest and felt the slow, even, unhindered breaths that only sleep could bring; felt the steady, constant beating of his blissfully functioning heart. Looking up at James' face, thunder rolled close enough to shake the building, and for half a second, House could see blood staining those lips.

Shaking his head to clear the morbid image, House threw the blankets off himself and quickly headed to the bathroom. The artificial light was blinding as he switched it on, but he didn't care. He made his way to the sink, ran the cold tap, and splashed his face several times. Grabbing the hand towel to dry his face, Greg realized he was still breathing hard as his heart continued to pump excitably and his whole body trembled slightly. Leaning with both hands on either side of the sink, he took in his own reflection in the mirror and flinched. When had he gotten so old? In the sleep deprived hours of the early morning he looked ten…make that fifteen years older and felt even worse. His hair was rapidly thinning, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was haggard and wrinkling. So what could Wilson possibly see in him? Perhaps his subconscious was right. He made Wilson feel needed, but that was all. He took all of his friend's care and love, and, by nature, gave nothing back. How could it end any other way than badly? Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and sighed deeply.

Then there were arms around his waist, holding him loosely, waiting for a response. House recognized Wilson's arms immediately, released the sink, and leaned back into the younger man's chest. James tightened his arms and rested his chin on House's right shoulder, both of them watching the other's face in the mirror.

"Bad dream?" Wilson questioned in a soft tone. Had the dream not shaken him so badly, House may have been annoyed by it.

"To put it lightly," he responded in his usual tone.

"Wanna tell me about it?" James continued.

"Maybe I'll go sleep in mommy's bed tonight," House joked, but no humor found its way into his voice. Wilson grinned weakly. House was pale, as if he'd seen a ghost, and frankly it was kind of freaking James out. He said nothing, however, knowing this was the best course of action. House took a deep shuddering breath, and Wilson could feel the man's body shaking ever so slightly.

"You died," Greg finally said, his voice cracking on the second word. "The bastard that shot me broke in and did the same to you, lying in bed. You bled to death in my arms, and he made me live." Wilson's arms tightened again, the words and distant, almost frightened tone of voice in which they were spoken disturbing him.

"That's not going to happen," James said confidently. "You're not gonna lose me." House shifted in his arms, turning to face the younger man.

"You don't know that," he responded seriously, locking his eyes with Wilson's and relishing in the life he saw there. This was it. Now or never. He had to show Wilson what he really meant to him, had to give back instead of taking. He had to show James that he was capable of giving the same high that he received.

House ignored the question in Wilson's eyes as he slipped his left arm around the young man's waist and raised his right hand to the back of his head, tangling his fingers in the thick, dark hair. Without hesitating, he pulled Wilson to him, lips meeting lips for the first time with a roll of thunder and flickering lights. Their breath hitched in unison at the shock of the intense feeling the small contact sent surging through their bodies. Instantly the kiss grew into something more. Mouths opened simultaneously, tongue tangling with tongue, as the contact became more passionate. There was nothing rough or needy about it; it simply was. House unconsciously pressed himself closer, and Wilson responded in kind, lifting his own hand to the back of House's neck. Call him cliché or sentimental, but not even in his dreams had kissing James felt so good. Not even Stacy had ignited such a feeling in him. Had House been in possession of any form of composure, he would have smacked himself in an attempt to pull himself back together. Since when was he a romantic?

The lights flickered once more as they pulled apart, just enough to breathe; eyes still closed as their breath mingled between them. House opened his eyes first, watching Wilson breathing heavily in front of him. The younger man's lips were swollen and wet, and his body was now shaking in time with House's. Greg couldn't contain a small grin as James slowly opened his eyes, locking them with the other man's for a moment before returning the smile and resting his forehead against House's. Wilson let out a small laugh.

"You know, I'm starting to notice a pattern with you and near death experiences," he said softly between heavy breaths. House let out a small laugh of his own.

"Fun, huh?"

"The near death thing or the saliva exchange?" Wilson questioned jokingly. House laughed again.

"Depends on how kinky you are," he responded.

"In that case, from now on let's skip my gruesome death and get straight to the part that ends with your tongue in my mouth," James replied without missing a beat. House pulled his head back slightly and gave a look of feigned shock.

"Why, Jimmy!" he barely had enough time to reply before Wilson's mouth was back on his. The kiss was hungrier this time, needier. But it was just as meaningful as the first. Only this time, House managed to draw a few indistinct noises from the younger man's throat. He may have even let out one or two of his own as James' hands explored his body, and he allowed his hands to do the same to the other man. House was getting nervous, however, as the extent of his arousal became increasingly obvious in the exceedingly close proximity of their bodies. But he grinned into the kiss as he felt Wilson's own vivacity pressing into his left thigh.

"As happy as I am that the two of you are getting so close, mommy's bladder isn't what it use to be," Blythe commented from her position in the doorway, a hint of amusement in her voice.

The two men broke apart instantly, startled by the unexpected intrusion. House had to suppress a laugh as he watched Wilson's face flush then turn a deep crimson color.

"Way to kill the moment," Greg told his mother with controlled sarcasm, making no effort to remove his hand from Wilson's backside.

"I learned from the best," Blythe smiled, noticing the position of her son's hand but deciding it best not to comment. She knew that was what Greg wanted. "Now are you two going to take this elsewhere, or should I go find a bush?"

"We're going," Wilson responded before House could, turning around to face the beautifully aged woman. "Sorry, Mrs. House."

Blythe stepped aside in order to allow them to pass. Wilson inwardly noted his discovery of where House had gotten his smirk as well, and couldn't help but wonder if the two were more alike than he knew.

Seven hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-seven seconds after he first kissed Wilson, House strolled into his conference room singing "Love is in the Air" at the top of his lungs and doing a little spin as he hung up his jacket.

"What are you doing here?" Foreman asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Singing. I thought that was obvious," House replied.

"You're early," he continued. "And you shaved."

"Even earlier than you know. I just came from the clinic. Got my hours out of the way," House said as he walked over to the whiteboard and placed an elbow on top.

"Wait, so _you_ came in hours early so that you could _voluntarily_ work the clinic, _and_ you shaved?" Chase questioned, sounding a little more astounded than House believed was necessary.

"Sexy, right?" House affirmed.

"Creepy, actually," Chase corrected.

"And you're walking!" Cameron exclaimed, staring down at House's right leg, amazed that no one had said anything before her.

"I am?" House mocked loudly. "Why didn't someone tell me sooner? We've got to call Mr. Ripley! I've only been walking since I was a toddler!"

"I meant you're not limping," Cameron gave him a look.

"Okay, either you've been replaced by a pod person, or we've somehow discovered an actual portal to the Twilight Zone," Foreman commented as he finished pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Don't be silly. There's a reason they call it science _fiction_," House rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Which leaves only one possible explanation," Chase began.

"You got a brace for your leg?" Cameron interrupted, thinking she had finished Chase's thought.

"Well that much is obvious," Chase answered for House. "But I was going to say _somebody got lucky_!"

"Chase! I can't believe you would suggest such a thing! I live with my mother for God's sake!" House pretended to be appalled.

"So you didn't?" Cameron questioned carefully, to the surprise of her peers.

"No. Or at least I don't think I did," House looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged. "I'm not sure. I lost track after Wilson shoved his tongue down my throat."

Chase's eyes widened in horror then squeezed shut as he cringed and shook his head as if attempting to erase the mental image like an etch-a-sketch. Foreman, annoyed, looked down and shook his head slowly, not at all shocked by the answer. And Cameron simply stared blankly, trying desperately to keep any and all emotion from her face so as to avoid any more of the relentless taunting from her fellows. She was over House. Really, she was.

"Thanks for playing," House smirked at their reactions. "Call me if we get a case. I'll be in my office writing poetry and drawing I heart J.W. on all my files." No one responded as he opened the door to his office and his pager went off.

Five minutes and thirteen seconds later, House was running into Cuddy's office, coming to a jump stop in front of her desk.

"You wanted to see me, boss?" he questioned with a smirk.

"I see the brace is working out nicely. I'm glad you're enjoying it," she responded.

"Works like a charm," he confirmed.

"It must be very charming," she continued with a half-smirk of her own. House gave her a questioning look. "You shaved," Cuddy elaborated. House brought a self-conscious hand up to his face and ran it over the skin where his stubble use to be.

"Yeah, well I needed a change. It makes Wilson's face turn all red after we make out. It just isn't a good look for him. I had to do _something_," he replied with a shrug.

"Uh huh," Cuddy responded skeptically, knowing this at least wasn't the whole truth. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to look nice for a certain someone." House rolled his eyes.

"We've been over this, Cuddy! I will not have sex with you on your desk no matter how much you pay me! I told you, I'm a one woman man now!" he yelled as loudly as he could, turning to face the doors. Cuddy rolled her eyes this time then gave him a warning look as he turned back around.

"But that's not what you wanted to discuss, is it?" he continued, turning back to face her. Cuddy immediately stiffened slightly.

"I heard you came in early, even worked the clinic voluntarily. I wanted to see what was up," she stumbled.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a really bad liar?" House questioned.

"I don't know what you're –"

"You say you were curious and wanted the opportunity to taunt me, but your overly stiff posture and nervous vocal tones say there's a more serious subject hiding underneath all that cleavage," he interrupted. Cuddy let out an exasperated sigh. "Come on, we're already here. You might as well get it over with; make it less painful for both of us." Cuddy took a long, deep breath while giving him a calculating look. House raised both eyebrows and moved his head in a questioning manner.

"As you know, I've been considering for a long while now whom to choose to be my sperm donor," she began slowly, using her professional voice and looking down at her desk as she spoke.

"And I assume you've made a decision?" House urged her on, curious.

"I…well…I…Oh, hell. I want to ask you," she looked up at him then, preparing herself for the inevitable sarcasm. She wasn't disappointed.

"Wait a second. Wait a second. You want _me _to be yo baby daddy?" House asked in his best 'gangsta' voice, his smirk unwavering.

"Could you please take something seriously for once in your life?" Cuddy practically begged.

"Sorry, I just can't help but find this amusing," he explained, still smirking.

"Oh, right. I forgot just how hilarious you find my reproductive system," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"No, not that. I take your desire for a child very seriously," House began. "I just find your timing and source of sperm amusing."

"And why's that?" asked Cuddy, beginning to regret all of this.

"Well, a couple of months ago you attempted to have this conversation with me in _my _office, but you chickened out at the last minute. Then you find out that I'm gay…ish, and now you're all gung-ho for makin' some little Houddy babies. I find that interesting. Care to share with the class?"

"This has nothing to do with your sexual orientation, House," she defended, getting frustrated. "You said to pick someone I trust and like. Of all the men I know, as much as it pains me to say it, you fit that description the best."

"Oh, give me a break. You trust and like Wilson way more. Why me?" he asked suspiciously.

"Wilson had an uncle who died of cancer. You have no family history of cancer or any other hereditary disease," Cuddy responded.

"Then what was the whole date thing about?"

"I wanted to see how he felt about the subject. I mean, most people have a family history of some type of cancer. The odds of him passing it on are very small and –"

"You were way too chicken to ask me," House finished for her. Cuddy closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes.

"Look, if you're saying no, just say it. This has been painful enough as it is," she crossed her arms and shifted her weight.

"I'll think about it," House replied, turning on his heels and walking quickly toward the door.

"Wait, you're saying yes?" Cuddy called after him.

"Nope. I'm saying I'll think about it!" he called over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.

Two hours, seven minutes, and fifty-three seconds later, House and Wilson were eating lunch in the courtyard in relative silence. Cuddy's request had been echoing in House's mind since the moment he heard it. Luckily, at the moment Wilson seemed to be just as distracted. Curious, House pushed his own problems to the back of his mind and followed Wilson's gaze to where he was staring over House's left shoulder. Two tables back, he saw a young woman, probably in her late twenties, munching happily on cafeteria french fries and laughing softly at a small boy, no more than four years old, who was standing next to the table and generally just being goofy. Next to her, in a hospital supplied highchair, was a baby, probably about fifteen months, who was slurping contently on his blue and white bottle. Looking back at James, House could see the smallest hint of a grin plastered to the oncologist's face and hoped to God that he didn't have the same expression on his.

"You want one of those?" House broke the silence.

"What?" House's question caught Wilson off guard.

"A kid," House clarified.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I did," Wilson stumbled, both embarrassed at being caught and curious about the question. "Why?" House shrugged.

"Just curious."

"That's it? You were just curious?"

"You seemed excessively interested," House explained.

"If this is your twisted way of asking me if I regret this – us, I don't. I want this. I've wanted it for a long time. I just figured you never would," Wilson tried to reassure without really knowing the problem. "Wait, this isn't your twisted way of telling me _you _regret it, is it?"

"No," House replied in a surprisingly Wilson-like manner. "It's just," he took a deep breath and sighed. "Cuddy and I had a very interesting conversation this morning."

"Oh?" Wilson inquired, taking a drink of water.

"Apparently she wants to have my baby," House told him casually, anticipating an entertaining reaction. He got one. Completely taken off guard by the unexpected admission, James choked, nearly spewing water all over their lunches and probably House as well. Swallowing painfully, he began to cough as his face turned red, and his eyes began to water.

"What?" he managed to sputter out. "You're joking right? This is just one of your games." House shook his head.

"Wish it was. I'm actually being serious for once."

"Okay, she told me about the baby thing, but I thought she was considering an anonymous donor," Wilson responded after taking another drink to ease the tickle in his throat.

"Turns out she was just too much of a chicken to ask me."

"And what did you say?" James questioned carefully.

"I said I'd think about it," House answered.

"You did?" Wilson asked, surprised. House nodded. "And?"

"I'm thinking about it," the older man answered then took a deep breath. "And I was wondering what you thought about it."

Wilson leaned back in his chair. He kept his eyes on House's but looked contemplative. It was a look House knew well, and it always left him wondering just what kind of deeply interesting thoughts were floating around in that brain of his.

"This is a big decision, House. You do this and it's forever," Wilson began slowly in his 'let's have a serious conversation' voice. For once, House wasn't annoyed by it.

"I know that," he replied. "It's not like I'm going to play daddy or anything. It'd be Cuddy's kid."

"And you'd be okay with that?" Wilson questioned. House shrugged.

"I guess. If that's what she wants."

"Did she say that?"

"No. It just makes the most sense."

"But either way Cuddy's your boss. You'll see her everyday. You'll probably see the baby all the time. No matter how you look at it, this child would be part of you. Half of its DNA would be yours. You don't think you should be part of its life?"

"Hey, I haven't even said yes yet. If it's so important to you, why don't you go volunteer and get me out of this?" House said indignantly.

"House," Wilson replied in a warning tone then returned to his previous voice. "It doesn't work like that. She trusts you. She's known you since the two of you were in college."

"She hated me in college," House defended.

"I think the word you're looking for is _dated_," Wilson countered, raising his eyebrows slightly in emphasis.

"I did not date Cuddy," House continued the defensive.

"Okay, then the word you need is _mate_," Wilson smirked.

"Wrong again."

"Ah, well there's only one more word. I'll give you a hint; it ends with _bate_."

"Witty," House said sarcastically.

"Thank you," Wilson replied, straightening his posture humorously.

"Aren't we getting a bit off topic?" asked an increasingly annoyed House.

"What do you want me to say?" Wilson became serious again. "It's your body, your life, your choice. I'll support you either way. You know that."

"I don't know what to do this time," House told him honestly.

"House, the only thing you can do is what you know to be right," Wilson told him confidently. House watched him for a long moment then nodded and snatched the other man's chips. Wilson didn't so much as blink as he reached down and pulled up another bag. House grinned in amusement and popped a chip into his mouth. They finished their meal in silence.

* * *

So ends chapter 8! Sorry it took so long to update. Life can be unpredictable. Hugs to all my reviewers! You guys are the greatest! I hope you all enjoyed it!


	9. Wilson’s Disease

Eighteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fifty-three seconds after Cuddy found it necessary to complicate House's life even further, he decided not to go to work. Although this was not exactly an irregular occurrence, he actually had a legitimate excuse this time. He'd woken up well before the alarm was due to ring incessantly in his ear. This simply never happened. In fact, if anything, he usually slept right through it for an impressive amount of time. Therefore he immediately knew something was not right.

However, it didn't take long to figure out the source of his unpleasant awakening. He was hot – way too hot. Confused as to what the cause of this uncomfortable situation, House rolled onto his left side to face Wilson. Mystery solved. The younger man's face was flushed, sweat soaked every visible inch of him, and his head was moving weakly from side to side as he slept, hands clutching his abdomen in obvious pain. House frowned, pushed the damp hair off of James' forehead, and replaced it with his wrist, testing his temperature. He had a high fever but nothing dangerous. It was probably the flu. He took a moment to bask in the idea of the amount of pleasure he would get out of rubbing in the fact that he'd remembered to get a flu shot whereas the Boy Wonder had put it off.

"House?" Wilson's weak question brought him back to reality.

"Wakey, wakey, Wonder Boy!" House smirked. Wilson grimaced.

"Not so loud," he groaned, squeezing his eyes even more tightly closed.

"Headache?" House questioned, not lowering his voice. Wilson nodded and hummed his agreement before speaking.

"I think I'm gonna throw up." House became serious then.

"Whoa! Try to keep it in until I get a bucket or something!" he said as he ran from the room, slightly awkwardly as he had not bothered to put his brace on yet. Rummaging through the kitchen, he spotted an old plastic ice cream pail sitting next to the trashcan. He figured that would work. Snatching it, he made his way back toward the bedroom. Suddenly a harsh retching sound filled his ears, followed by the inevitable splash. Too late. Dropping the bucket, he hurried into the bathroom to find Wilson, sweaty and shaking almost violently, slumped over on the floor, practically hugging the toilet. In hindsight, it probably would have made more sense to have helped him to the bathroom instead of running off, but it was too late now.

"Feel better?" House asked as he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the thermometer, Tylenol, and Emetrol.

"I wish," Wilson mumbled painfully. House ran some water in a glass.

"Here take these," he said as he handed them over. Wilson slowly obeyed. House inwardly noted the pain each movement seemed to cause." Now, come on. Let's get you back to bed," he told him as he replaced the glass. Wilson nodded in agreement and took House's outstretched hand.

"Greg, honey, is everything all right?" asked the concerned voice of Blythe House. She'd woken to the sounds on crashing and banging in the kitchen and had gotten up to investigate, stopping short of the entrance to the bedroom.

"Yeah, mom, everything's fine. You can come in, but you might wanna stay back. Looks like Wilson's got the flu," House replied as he helped Wilson back into bed and covered him up as the young man continued to shake. "I wanna take your temperature before the Tylenol kicks in," he told Wilson as his mother quickly stepped inside.

"Oh, James, sweetie how did you manage to come down with the flu? Didn't you get your shot?" House smirked at his mother's words, but the expression was quickly wiped from his face as she swiped the thermometer from his hands and stuck it in Wilson's mouth. "Now keep that under your tongue," she instructed as she would a child as she fixed the blankets around him.

"I thought I was the doctor here," house said indignantly, placing his hands on his hips in a very Wilson-like fashion. Blythe nodded in agreement.

"And a very good one too. _But_ it's time for all the good, _healthy_, doctors to get ready for work."

"But _mom_!" he complained in a long, drawn out voice.

"No buts. You are going to work and that's final. James and I will be fine here without you," the beep of the thermometer interrupted her. House reached down to take it, but Blythe beat him to it. "101.8. My goodness! I'll go and make some chicken and noodle soup. That always made Greg feel better when he was a little boy." House rolled his eyes.

"We don't have any soup," he pointed out, his voice staying as polite as possible only for his mother.

"Sure we do. I went grocery shopping yesterday. You really need to eat better, you know," Blythe frowned slightly at the thought of the bare cabinets she had found.

"Come on, I'm a doctor. What do I know about health?" he questioned jokingly. Blythe gave a small, resigned grin.

"Go and get a shower, Greg," she told him then turned to Wilson. "Will you be okay by yourself for a while?" James gave a short nod, squeezing his eyes closed at the pain this slight movement caused.

"I'm fine," he answered quietly, pulling the covers over his head.

"Come on. Get going or you'll be late," Blythe ushered House out of the bedroom, leaving the door open a small crack behind them.

Twelve minutes and forty-two seconds later, the apartment was filled with the distinct aroma of chicken and noodles. Stepping out of the steamy bathroom, House inhaled deeply. He loved that smell. It reminded him of the comfort and concern of others being focused solely on him for all the right reasons. He'd never admit it, but he missed that feeling. Shaking himself, he grabbed the cordless phone from the living room, looked around for any signs of the mother hen, and dialed PPTH.

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy! I hope the girls are nice and perky today cause I've got some bad news," he told her in his usual 'conversation with Cuddy' tone.

"My pores are oozing with anticipation," she replied dryly, all too use to receiving this sort of phone call.

"Wilson's caught something – can't come in today. Probably won't be going away anytime soon, so I guess we'll see you in a few days," he made a move to hang up, but Cuddy's shout stopped him.

"Wait a second!" she all but yelled, knowing he would be hanging up. "If Wilson's the one that's sick, what exactly is keeping _you_ from coming in?"

"Well, he could have anything! Maybe it's mono! I'd definitely have it then! I could be carrying some deadly Ethiopian plague for all you know!" House emphasized dramatically.

"What are his symptoms?" Cuddy asked impatiently.

"Temperature about 102, chills, nausea, vomiting, headache, muscle ache –"

"The flu? You're wasting my time with the flu?" annoyance was becoming increasingly evident in her voice.

"It's highly contagious!" House defended.

"House, I expect to see you walking through those front doors at exactly 10 a.m. or else I will fire you. Your choice."

"You'd fire your future _baby daddy_?" House asked in mock surprise. "There goes your child support check!"

"Not now!" Cuddy scolded. "I don't have time, and I am not in the mood."

"Awe, is it _that _time again already?" he mock pitied this time.

"I have a meeting. 10 a.m., House. Not a minute later." Her voice carried a warning, but House loved to live dangerously.

"All you had to say was please," he smirked. The line went dead. "Well, that was rude," he said to no one as he pulled the phone away from his ear.

Replacing it on the receiver, he looked up at the clock above the television and sighed. It was already 9:30. Of course he had no intention on actually going in on time, but he figured he should at least be in by 10:30. Cuddy seemed excessively pissy today. Sighing once more, he made his way back to the bedroom, limping as quietly as possible to the bed and sitting down. He pulled off his pajama pants quickly and strapped on his brace. House then walked to the closet and pulled out the first T-shirt and pair of jeans he saw, fearing that digging around would make too much noise. Out of force of habit, he sat back down on the bed to put them on.

After pulling his jeans all the way up, House plopped back onto the bed a bit harder than he had intended, wincing when he heard Wilson moan behind him. He quickly slipped the black Monster Truck Jam shirt over his head, turned sideways, pulled his legs up onto the bed, and smoothly slid over to Wilson's side. A bowl of soup sat, untouched and cooling rapidly, on the nightstand next to James, who's head was still covered by the bed sheets.

"Hey, Wilson, where's momma bear?" he whispered questioningly, pulling the sheet away carefully. He could feel the heat the younger man's body was generating without even touching him.

"Dunno," was the hoarse answer, followed quickly by an impressive amount of coughing.

"What's the matter? Porridge too hot?" House indicated the soup with a jerk of his head as he brought his right hand up to massage the young man's chest gently, instinctively.

"Not hungry," Wilson replied, shifting uncomfortably as he continued to shake with the chills.

"Have to eat. You know what they say, 'Feed a fever, starve a cold.' Or is it the other way around?" House shrugged. "I don't know. I'll have to consult Dr. Mom." Wilson offered a small grin.

"Sorry, it's not gonna happen. I'll just throw it back up again," he moved his left arm up to rest across his forehead then squinted his eyes open. "Shouldn't you be going to work?"

"Gotta be late today," House answered with a mischievous smirk.

"Gotta or gonna?" questioned the sick man.

"Both, I guess. Cuddy said she'd fire me if I wasn't in at exactly ten, but I think she's bluffing. She'd miss my dashing good looks and sparkling personality too much." Wilson snorted. House made a feigned hurt face. "Why, Jimmy, I can't believe you! After all these years, you have to have seen something in me!" This earned another small laugh.

"Your personality sucks. I only want you for your body," James smirked. It was House's turn to laugh.

"Wow. Your standards are pathetic," he commented dryly.

"Aim low and you're never disappointed. That's my philosophy," James replied in an equally dry voice.

"Ever so sad, yet ever so true," House agreed. "Now eat your porridge before it gets too cold."

"Maybe later," Wilson responded. "When my stomach settles down."

"Fine. You're the one who has to lay here and listen to mom worry about it all day," the older man resigned, leaning down to kiss James softly on his burning lips.

"What was that for?" the oncologist asked absently.

"Just wanted to," House answered, doing it again.

"But I'm sick," Wilson stated obviously.

"Yep," House agreed, kissing him twice. James responded every time.

"Probably contagious," he warned, leaning into another kiss.

"Most likely," the diagnostician replied, pressing their lips together three more times.

"You're just trying to get out of work," Wilson accused. House kissed him longer.

"Yep," he replied with a grin, giving the sick man another drawn out kiss. Wilson smiled into it and laughed shortly.

"Well stop. The last thing we need is for you to get sick as soon as I get better," he scolded unconvincingly. "Go to work and take out your displeasure on the kids."

"Fine, but I'm telling them you said that. I'm tired of you being the nice one. People need to know the real you."

"House, I could be really be Jack the Ripper and everyone would still consider me the nice one," Wilson attempted another smirk.

"Now you're just being mean," House replied. Wilson tried to respond, but a coughing fit took the place of any actual words. House continued to rub the younger man's chest soothingly and grimaced slightly when the memory of doing the same to a sick Stacy came to mind.

"Heavens, that cough sounds nasty!" his mother's voice welcomely chased the image away. She rushed back into the room holding a washcloth and a bowl of water in one hand and an extra pillow in the other. "I hope you're not getting pneumonia."

"I'm fine," Wilson wheezed between coughs. "Just a tickle." Blythe did not look convinced.

"Greg, shouldn't you be heading to the hospital" she questioned with a knowing look in her brilliant green eyes.

"Why else would I still be lying here?" he responded.

"Get going now, dear. You're not too big for a spanking, you know," she grinned that mischievous 'House' grin.

""You know, it's funny, Wilson was just saying the same thi –" a hand blindly swatting him across the chest cut off the response. "Ow! See what I mean?" Blythe gave a small laugh, all too use to her son's antics. "Fine. I'll go. But I won't enjoy it."

"I'd be worried if you did," she replied.

"Okay, momma bear, take care of baby bear while Papa bear works long and hard to bring home the bacon," House smirked, kissing Wilson once more before standing and walking to the door. "And don't open the door for any strange wolves. I hear they have a thing for old ladies and small children."

"Your mixing your fairytales together," Wilson commented.

"No, I'm not. The fever's just made you delirious. I'm gonna get out of here before you start seeing flying purple elephants," House said as he grabbed the black blazer he'd worn the day before and lunged out the door. Wilson then sighed, closed his eyes and said a brief prayer for everyone unlucky enough to set foot inside Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital that day.

"What's the differential diagnosis for a forty-seven year old male who woke up this morning to find himself living once again with his mother, his boyfriend vomiting all over the good toilet seat, and his boss wanting to both sack him and have his baby?" House questioned forty-nine minutes and twenty-three seconds after leaving his apartment. Traffic had been backed up a bit more that he'd expected due to a rather violent car accident. Sad, yes, but at least the hospital had some more business. However, he'd managed to avoid a confrontation with Cuddy, who was currently MIA.

"Lucky," Chase offered quickly. House raised an eyebrow but wrote it on the whiteboard anyway.

"Chronic Boredom," Foreman suggested, not looking up from his newspaper.

"Severe Pretentiousness Syndrome," Chase answered once more.

"Acute Imbecile Disorder," Foreman continued.

"Chronic Endearment and Exultation Syndrome," Cameron chimed in, smirking mischievously. "Now more commonly known as Wilson's Disease." All eyes went to her. Foreman had an eyebrow raised, Chase looked slightly shocked, but House simply smirked back and jotted it down.

"Okay, we have five possible diagnosis," House said as he wrote 'Tall, Slim, Sexy, Pain free, Genius, Bisexual, Middle-aged Doctor' at the top of the board. "Let's start with what it's not."

"Luck doesn't account for the sick boyfriend, mom moving in, or the possibility of losing a job," Cameron replied.

"Right, Cuddy wanting my sperm is the only upside," House said as he crossed it out with the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice. He knew the ducklings would write it off as a joke.

"We can rule out boredom as well," Chase suggested. "New relationships are anything but boring." House marked 'Chronic Boredom' off the list.

"Pretentiousness accounts for the threats to his job but not the mother or the boyfriend," Foreman offered. "If it were that much of a problem, neither would want to be around him, let alone live with hem."

"And then there were two," House said as he crossed it off. "So, either this guys a complete and total idiot or absolutely, maddeningly, head-over-heels in love," he spoke in a contemplative tone while staring at the board. For the longest time he did nothing, simply stared at the words in front of him in deep thought. The fellows watched him curiously, wondering vainly what could possibly be running through that intricate brain of his. After a while, Cameron frowned in concern as she realized that this had indeed become more than just a game. Standing slowly, she made her way over to him and slowly extracted the marker from his loose grasp. No part of him acknowledged her presence at any point, as he remained completely focused on the neatly written black words. Carefully, the small woman reached up and drew a line straight through the center of the words "Acute Imbecile Disorder,' and looked up at House.

"You're not an idiot," she told him confidently. House stayed silent for a moment more, turning to look her in the eye. She gave him a small smile as he searched for some unknown rectitude, then he turned back to the board, grabbing the red marker from the tray and uncapping it.

"Congratulations, Cameron. Looks like you solved the case," he said in his usual tone as he circled the remaining diagnosis. "Treatment options?"

"You want to cure love and happiness?" Foreman questioned.

"Easy," Chase told them. "A wedding ring."

"Congress says no," House dismissed.

"Not in Massachusetts," Chase continued.

"Speaking from experience?" House asked.

"Yeah," Chase affirmed without thinking. All eyes now went to him. "Not me! My cousin. She married her girlfriend there last year."

"Wait a second, you went to a lesbian wedding, and you didn't even invite me and Foreman?" House inquired, looking appalled. "I think I speak for both of us when I say that we're very hurt."

"She's my cousin!" Chase responded, flabbergasted.

"Is she hot?" House continued.

"She's my cousin," Chase repeated.

"Oh, yeah. Australian. Never mind. Anything else that _doesn't _involve me spending thousands of dollars for jewelry, plane tickets, and a piece of meaningless paper in _Massachusetts_?" House questioned, lisping the last word mockingly.

"Death?" Foreman suggested.

"Hmm," House pretended to contemplate the idea. "Too messy and still too expensive."

"Murder?" Chase spoke again.

"That's very, very illegal and generally pretty messy. Remember?" House indicated the bloody stain in the carpet. Chase mentally kicked himself. "_But _it depends on who you're getting rid of."

"All of 'em," Foreman offered. "Solves every problem in one simple step."

"You believe love just ends when a person dies?" Cameron questioned, looking slightly shocked.

"Are we seriously going to turn this into a philosophical conversation?" Foreman replied with his own question. "We're fighting boredom, not contemplating the meaning of life." Cameron blushed softly, embarrassed.

"I guess what I was trying to say was that there is no cure. No matter what you do, love never goes away." Beside her, House wrote 'Love' on the board, followed by 'Neurological Disorder?' and 'Parasite?' "What are you –" Cameron left the question open.

"The symptoms fit both," House answered.

"Love isn't a parasite, it's an emotion!" said the appalled Cameron. House turned to her.

"Prove it," he turned back to the whiteboard and drew a double-headed arrow connecting 'Neurological Disorder' and 'Parasite' to each other. "Could be a parasite that infects the brain and causes the disorder."

"House, this is ridiculous," Cameron continued, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"To you maybe," he responded, speaking to her but continuing to stare at the board. "See, people like you and Wilson are blissfully oblivious to this condition simply because they are the cause. They have this way about them – an aura, if you will – that draws even the most unwilling people to them. Then _those _people start getting all dreamy-eyed and sensitive; they slowly start losing pieces of themselves. Those pieces are taken and molded into something else – something insane. Something that makes the carrier run through the victims mind every minute of everyday, making concentration and clearheadedness a thing of the past. Eventually, the victim permanently loses their mind," House worked out then circled both explanations together. "It's contagious, infectious, and it prays on the brain cells of every man, woman, and hormonally charged teenager it comes in contact with. It runs rampant in every corner of the globe, and there's no known cure. Love is the single largest epidemic in the history of the world. I wonder why no one's noticed before. I should write a paper." He recapped the marker and placed it back in its tray. Without another word, he turned and left the conference room for his office.

"All right, what was all that about?" Chase questioned once House was a safe distance away.

"Who cares?" Foreman replied. House is just trying to find an explanation for his insanity."

"No," said Cameron, sounding sullen and quiet. She was now staring at the board in front of her in much the same way House had. "He's confused. He's in love with his best friend – really in love. He's just trying to get through it the only way he knows."

"Get through it?" Foreman questioned. "Now _you're _making it sound like a disease." Cameron capped the black marker she was still holding, placed it back in the tray, and slowly looked up through the glass wall to House's office.

"Maybe it is," she replied, and unexpected wave of sadness washing over her. Foreman and Chase exchanged a knowing look before Chase stood and approached the small woman. Picking up the red marker, he uncapped it and wrote 'Recurrent' next to 'Love.' Cameron turned her head to look up at him, and he responded in kind. Their eyes locked, and suddenly the grief began to fade into the background. Cameron smiled. Chase smiled back.

"Thanks," she said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

"Anytime," he replied, replacing the marker. It turns out House was right – love really is contagious.

* * *

So ends chapter nine! YAY! Thank you to all my beautiful reviewers! The comments are what keeps this story alive! I hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter coming as soon as time allows! 


	10. Chips and a Movie

Meanwhile, Greg House sat in his office growing increasingly frustrated with each passing second. He was bored, hadn't had a case since before the shooting, and there was no Wilson there to annoy as a distraction. And, on top of that, he just couldn't seem to get Wilson out of his mind. Although, this time such thoughts were triggered by worry and concern – a feeling House was definitely not use to. Wilson had the immune system of a god. He couldn't even remember the last time the younger man was sick. It was always House that had the grave misfortune of coming down with some painful, otherworldly illness, and Wilson was the one who had to play doctor. House decided, as he pulled out his prescription pad and began filling out scripts for James, that he liked being the one getting taken care of way better. That way he got to miss work, usually longer than necessary with his friend's help, and there was no one to worry about but himself.

Tearing the prescriptions off the pad, House stood and left his office, heading straight for the pharmacy. He really needed a distraction. As he rounded the corner, however, he felt something solid slam into him, and suddenly he was flying backward. As he was still not completely steady on his right leg, he had to fling out both arms quickly and turn to catch himself on the wall.

"Oh, Dr. House! I didn't –" began the young nurse who had just so graciously attempted to trample him. He ignored the intended apology.

"Jesus Christ, lady! Where's the fire?" he all but yelled as he steadied himself, releasing the wall.

"I'm sorry, doctor. I didn't see you –" she continued to stammer nervously.

"Next time use your eyes instead of the top of your head. God gave them to you for a reason. Don't you think it'd be an insult not to use them to their maximum potential?" House persisted, his mood not improved by the annoying confrontation.

"I said I was sorry," the nurse defended.

"Tell that to the little old lady you find inexplicably trapped under your tires in the near future," House didn't care if she was sorry. It still happened.

"But, doctor –" she maintained.

"Apologies are useless, especially if you don't mean them. You wanna make up for it? Make it a point to not plow me down in the hallway," House replied arduously then finally made his way around the corner, giving the nurse no time to respond.

Eleven minutes and forty-two seconds after his not so pleasant encounter with Nurse Klutz, House had finally managed to make it to the middle of the line at the hospital pharmacy. He'd tried to cut directly to the front, he was a doctor after all, but the pharmacist refused to fill his prescriptions unless he quote, "waited in like just like everybody else." Jerk. What the hell were so many people doing in line for the pharmacy at 11:30 in the morning anyway?

"Hey, can we hurry it up a little?" House called out as loudly as he could toward the front of the line. "I've got a sick puppy at home, and, unfortunately, no amount of my admittedly limited TLC can quite measure up to goof old-fashioned legal drugs!" the pharmacist eyed him angrily as he handed a middle-aged blonde her prescription, but did not reply. However, in front of him, House heard an elderly lady whispering to her husband.

"If his dog is sick, shouldn't he be at a veterinary hospital?"

"Just ignore him, Marge. He's probably one of those headcases from upstairs," her husband replied quickly as the line moved up. House smirked and counted it as a victory.

The smirk was short-lived, however, as he spotted Cuddy approaching his current position at an alarming rate. Not at all in the mood for a lecture, he swiftly turned his back to her and began walking away.

"House!" she called out, catching him before he could complete his third step. Left foot still hanging in mid-air, he crossed it over his right and used it to pivot a full 180 degrees in one swift move.

"Dr. Cuddy! Sorry, couldn't see you through the blinding wall of stupidity standing in front of me," he quipped lightly.

"Why are you here?" Cuddy ignored his comment.

"Well, don't tell anyone, but there's this unbelievably foxy doctor in administration, and when I talked to her this morning, she was so desperate to get her hands on me, she was practically begging me to come in!"

"Why are you in the pharmacy? You detoxed while you were in your coma. I thought we kicked the vicodin habit," still she did her best not to lose her temper.

"Relax. I'm afraid Wilson is the lucky recipient of these little beauties," House waved the prescription in front of her face.

"And you absolutely had to get them now?" she questioned warily.

"Yep. It's almost lunchtime. I should be able to run these home real quick and be back here by dinner," he replied while pretending to check his watch.

"No. You will give me that," she snatched the paper from his fingers, "and I will call your mother so she can come and pick them up. Meanwhile, you can march you're little love-sick butt over to the clinic and practice with _their _runny noses and aching muscles." She grabbed his shoulders loosely and began walking him toward the clinic.

"But my puppy's all alone with my insanely overprotective mother!" House whined, dragging his feet like a small child.

"Oh, stop sulking and get in there. If you stay for three hours, you can go home. How's that?" Cuddy suggested as they walked through the doors. House planted his feet into the ground and turned swiftly to face her, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Why?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to emphasize his uncertainty.

"Because you're a doctor and he's you're patient. And because the concerned boyfriend act," she paused, "It looks good on you."

One hour, seven minutes, and thirty-two seconds after Cuddy left him standing, confused, in the middle of the clinic, House kicked out his seventh patient of the day – a six-year-old with a fairly bad case of the chicken pox. The boy had made a point of coughing in the unsympathetic doctor's face a good nine times in a five-minute period. As soon as the boy and his young mother stepped out the door, House slammed it shut and turned the lock. Sighing with relief, he closed the blinds, climbed onto the exam table, stood, stretched until he found the easiest way to reach the quadrangular ceiling tiles, pushed the one stained with red ink up and out of the way, reached in, and pulled two vending machine bags of chips and his mini television. Grinning smugly, he quickly replaced the tile and jumped down.

In hindsight, it turns out that this last move was not a particularly brilliant one. On impact, a sharp, violent pain ripped through House's right leg. Muffling a shout, he leaned over and clutched at it in an almost desperate move. Deep down, he knew this was an overreaction. This pain had nothing to do with the infarction. It was burning, hot and cold at the same time, beginning at the bottom of his foot and radiating up. It was the kind of pain that came from landing awkwardly after a long jump. But that didn't stop the fear from seizing his chest, forcing the air from his lungs.

In an effort to calm himself before anyone possessing a key could barge into the room and catch him in such a state, he allowed his mind to drift back to the night of what he considered to be his very last first date. He had gone to long without using his cane before his leg was ready, and the muscles had seized up in an unrelenting vice. Blind panic had overwhelmed him then – the threat of the ketamine wearing off still fresh in his mind. Then there were hands on his; a soft voice in his ear. He remembered how Wilson had touched him; the tone of voice in which he had spoken to him. It was alien to House, and yet oddly familiar. He remembered the way these actions had made him feel. They'd reminded him of just how much just how much he missed that part of his life – the days when he didn't come to a cold empty house, the days when being close, intimate, even in love with someone wasn't something to hate or fear or avoid. It seemed strange yet only fitting that Wilson would be the one to do this to him.

He'd always gone to Wilson for comfort and a break from his truly pathetic excuse for a life. It really was a shame that neither of them had realized what these feelings meant sooner. It probably would have saved Wilson a fortune in alimony and House a big chunk of thigh muscle. Then, much to his surprise, the pain in his leg began to dull on its own fairly quickly. House was beginning to really like this new turn in the House and Wilson relationship. If just thinking about it was such an effective painkiller, who knew what else it could do. Maybe they really could rule the world. Oh, what a wonderful world that would be.

"Dr. House!" came the voice of the always irritating and oddly masculine voice of Nurse Brenda. "Open up! I know you're in there! Stop locking the exam room doors! You have a patient!"

"Dr. House isn't in right now, but if you'd like to leave a message, please do so after the beep," he replied in a mechanical voice.

"House, I am not messing around!" Brenda pounded her fist into the door.

"Beeeeeep!" House responded.

"Fine! You stay in there and lounge in your little world, this kid can continue to bleed all over the clinic floor, and I will go and get Cuddy to smoke you out!" Brenda threatened. House knew she wasn't bluffing. They'd done this whole song and dance many times before. Forgetting about his hurt leg, he moved quickly to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open.

Brenda stood outside with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her foot tapping restlessly on the floor. She reminded House of his grandmother on Sunday mornings when he would purposefully take too long getting ready for church. 

Next to her stood a teenage girl with her left hand wrapped tightly around the bottom of her right first finger which was bleeding rather profusely all over what was probably a very expensive navy blue sweater. Her hair was a deep shade of chocolate brown and cut short to what was not quite a boyish look, but not one that belonged to a girl either. She was fairly tall for a girl, probably about 5' 11", her cinnamon eyes matched her hair, but her skin seemed to be just a shade too pale to blend with her darker features.

"See, Brenda, I told you Emo music is poisoning the minds of our youth," House indicated the girl's bleeding finger.

"Witty, but I didn't do it on purpose," the girl replied. "I cut it on a kitchen knife while I was fixing dinner."

"You do know that 'finger food' isn't a literal term, right?" House continued.

"Hey, if you had the munchies as bad as I did, you'd eat anything that even remotely resembled something like food," the young brunette smirked. House hesitated momentarily before smirking back.

"Right this way, Miss," he snatched the file from Brenda's grasp, "Wright." He moved his hands in an invitation. The girl eyed him warily but entered without another word. House followed close behind with a little wave to Brenda. The nurse gave that made him wonder if she had ever done hard time before slinking back to her lair.

"So," House said as he closed the door behind himself and began gathering the necessary equipment. "You got the munchies and decided to make yourself a gourmet dinner."

"Nah, I just said that to annoy Nurse Satan," the girl shrugged.

"An adolescent after my own heart," House smirked as he numbed her finger.

"She reminds me of my crazy Aunt Wanda," Miss Wright told him as he put the first stitch in. "And if there's one thing that really gets _her _going, it's even the tiniest hint that I might be doing drugs."

"Are you?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, my mom was into that stuff. Overdosed when I was twelve," she told him, disturbingly casual.

"I'm sorry," House replied, meaning it. The girl shrugged once again.

"I'm over it. It's been almost six years. Didn't really know her anyway. She took off when I was five. I saw her occasionally when she would try to bum off my dad. The whole thing's one epic Greek tragedy. Lucky for me, a daily dose of lithium and cigarettes helps me to not give a damn. Whoever invented those two should start their own religion. It'd be bigger than Christianity after a month tops!"

House smirked but didn't look up from his work. He was really starting to like this kid. "Cigarettes? Those things can kill you, ya know."

"So can being an asshole to everyone you meet, but that doesn't seem to stop you."

"Touché. So, if you weren't flirting with Mary Jane, or whatever you kids call it these days, how did you really earn such an impressive battle scar? "

"I really was making dinner. My parents both had to work late, and I thought it'd have been a nice surprise," she explained.

"Parent**_s_**?" House questioned. "Got a nice step mom to make you clean the chimney and be friends only with the little mice living under your bed?" The girl smiled awkwardly.

"Something like that," she replied. House didn't bother asking what she meant.

"So, how long until they get here? They have all sorts of fun papers to sign," he said instead, finishing his work and cutting away the extra thread.

"A couple of hours. They work pretty far away," she replied, raising her finger to eye level in order to examine the damage.

"Excellent," House said deeply. "How about chips and a movie?" He tossed her one of his chip bags. She made and expert left-handed catch, and he wondered vaguely if she might be left handed. She looked like a lefty.

"Don't you have more work to do?" she questioned curiously.

"Not while I'm with a patient I don't," he sat the mini TV on the counter and switched it on. "Now scootch over," he demanded lightly, hopping onto the exam table next to her.

One hour, forty-six minutes, and seventeen seconds later, House and the patient he now knew as _Kendra _Wright sat in the same positions, munching on potato chips and chugging bottles of Mountain Dew after having their snack supply replenished by a very unwilling Cameron. Judging by the shade of red her face had been, House guessed they'd drug her away from _something _very important.

"Who's hotter: Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, or Antonio Banderas?" Kendra asked as the movie went to commercial.

"Antonio hands down," House answered immediately, popping another chip into his mouth. Kendra looked up for a moment, surprised that he'd actually answered the question.

"You talkin' real life or just in this movie?" she continued.

"Both," House replied, looking thoughtful. "Although the vampire thing does give Brad and Tom some bonus points, Antonio just has that irresistible Latino charm and such dreamy brown eyes!" He responded in a purposefully teenage girlish manner. Kendra giggled at this.

"You sound just like my dad," she told him, still snickering in a way that made her appear much more innocent than she probably was.

"I'm assuming that's a good thing?" he questioned. She smiled sweetly.

"Yeah, definitely."

"Well, then thanks, I guess."

"No problem," she gave him one more small laugh. They fell into silence once more as Eva Longoria attempted to sell them mascara that would instantly transform them into a Latina beauty just like her.

"So, do you have any kids?" Kendra asked cautiously, looking up at House. He turned his head toward her quickly.

"Peculiar subject change. I don't suppose Attention Deficit Disorder is on your rather impressive list of personal dramas?" House responded sardonically. Kendra sighed heavily.

"I take that as a no."

"How did you get no from that?"

"So you do?"

"No, I was just curious about your obviously affective deductive skills," House ate another chip. Kendra sighed again.

"I guess it just made since. What with you having a boyfriend and all…"

"Wait, I never said I had a boyfriend," House stopped her.

"Like you needed to," Kendra nearly laughed. "We've been here for almost two hour hours and every other sentence out of your mouth has the word 'Wilson' in it. If you're not doing him, you really should start immediately. It's no wonder everyone avoids you, it'd drive me nuts after the first thirty days as well."

"So I talk about him a lot. He's my best friend. What else do I have to talk about?" House wasn't really trying to defend himself, just arguing for the sake of it. Kendra smiled knowingly.

"You can't lie to me," she responded. "You're in _love_."

"Am not," House continued his unconvincing mock defense.

"Your eyes get brighter when you talk about him. They sparkle," Kendra sealed her argument. Damn. Did they really?"

"Fine," House conceited after a moment's hesitation. "But my eyes do not _sparkle_."

"Yes, they do," Kendra argued.

"No, they don't," House continued.

"Do," Kendra insisted.

"Not!" House threw a chip at her.

"Do!" Kendra threw one back.

"Not!" House's turn.

"Do!" Kendra's turn.

"Dr. House!" Brenda knocked on the door once again.

"With a patient!" he responded.

"I know. Her parents are here," the nurse continued, her voice much more polite while in such close proximity to paying customers. House hopped off the table, shut off the television, then walked to the door.

"Not," he said as he turned the handle and opened the door. Kendra smiled, and when he turned to face the new arrivals, he was decidedly surprised to find two men, both in their mid-thirties, standing in the doorway with concerned expressions on their faces.

"Hello, I'm Thomas Wright. I'm Kendra's father." The man who spoke reminded House of Kendra only because he was her complete opposite, if that makes any sense. His hair was light blonde, his eyes were crystal blue, he was fairly short for a man, maybe about 5' 9", and his skin appeared to naturally be a shade too dark for the rest of his features. Kendra's mother had definitely provided her coloration. Mr. Wright's facial features, however, were definitely Kendra's. It was uncanny really.

"Greg House," House said as he shook the man's proffered left hand.

"Hey, dad. Hey, poppa," Kendra waved from where she sat inside the room.

"Hey, baby, are you okay?" Mr. Wright's companion asked worriedly.

"Yeah, it's not as bad as it looks. Just a nasty scratch," she assured him. Both men looked to House for confirmation. He nodded reassuringly.

"She's right. No biggy. We just needed someone over eighteen to fill out all of the exciting forms that Brenda will now be providing you with." Both men looked over at Kendra as if asking with their eyes if it were okay to leave.

"It's okay, guys. I'll be fine."

"She survived the last two hours without you. I don't think another five minutes will hurt anything," House backed her up, doing his best not to degrade them for being so worried about something so trivial. Parents in general annoyed him. But he liked Kendra, so he figured it was the least he could do.

"You really should, ya know," Kendra commented out of the blue once daddy and poppa were out of sight. House gave her a questioning look.

"Have kids," she elaborated.

"Nah," House replied. "Parents annoy me. They're stupid and irrational and do things like going into full blown panic mode over a bloody finger." Kendra smiled.

"They're parents. It's not their fault. Everyone worries about their children."

"Only because they choose to. Having children ruins people. It messes with their heads. I've seen enough of it to know. I'll never understand why so many feel the need to do such a thing to themselves. It isn't logical."

"Not everything can be explained, House. Some things are just meant to be." House looked up at her then, an indescribable look in his eyes, before he turned and walked out the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Kendra called after him.

"To make a baby!" he called back over his shoulder. "Nice meeting you, kid!"

"Hey! House!" Kendra ran to the door. He stopped and turned to look at her. "Do!"

* * *

Yay! Chapter 10 is finally up! I apologize for the delay. Life is simply unpredictable. Thank you all for your encouraging comments! They keep my muse alive! Chapter 11 will be up much quicker than this one. Promise!


	11. Sick Puppy

One hour, forty-seven minutes, and nineteen seconds after he last spoke with Kendra Wright, House stepped inside his apartment and closed the door quietly behind himself.

""Greg, you're home early," Blythe commented in a surprised yet quiet voice as she stepped out of the kitchen, the same bowl and washcloth as that morning in her hand.

"Yeah, Cuddy let me skip out early," he explained, shrugging his jacket off. "How's Baby Bear doing?" He tossed his jacket to the couch. Blythe gave a momentary look of disapproval before her expression turned into that look of instinctive, motherly sympathy.

"Not well, I'm afraid. I gave him the medicine you prescribed, but it doesn't seem to be helping. His headache's worse, he can't stomach anything, he can hardly move for his sore muscles, and his temperature just keeps getting higher no matter what I do," she glanced down at the bowl in her hand absently before continuing. "Whatever he's managed to catch isn't going to go away quietly," she said, sounding regretful and compassionate. House nodded, looking at the floor. What was he supposed to say? Blythe seemed to sense his discomfort and offered him an easy out. "He's been asking for you," she held out the bowl and washcloth. House gave her what could possibly be passed off as a grin, nodded again, took the offered objects, and headed for the bedroom.

Wilson was lying in the middle of the bed now, lying silent and still with the blankets covering his head again. House walked as quietly as possible to the far side of the bed, then hung the cloth over the edge of the bowl before setting it on the nightstand and climbing softly into the bed. Wilson groaned a little and his head moved underneath the mountain of covers that Blythe must have fetched for him.

"Hey, Baby Bear. Poppa's home, and I brought bacon," House spoke softly, remembering the headache.

"Oh, please don't mention food. I might puke my guts out just thinking about it," moaned Wilson's muffled voice. House grimaced sympathetically. Oops.

"Sorry," he apologized, slowly pulling the covers away from the sick man's face. Wilson groaned in protest, but otherwise offered no resistance. House gave a single small laugh. Wilson squinted one eye open. "What's funny?"

"You look pathetic," House grinned. Wilson gave him a bewildered looked.

"Right. I almost forgot how hilarious you find the suffering of others," he responded, closing his eye again and turning his head back to face the ceiling.

"Oh, don't be do dramatic," House said, laying down flat beside him and turning his own head to face Wilson. The younger man's eyes were pressed tightly together, his brow furrowed in obvious pain. For a moment, House said nothing else. He really sucked at this job. Okay, did Wilson always do in these situations? "Need anything?" he asked softly. Wilson managed to strain both eyes open this time, their deep coloring made glassy by the high fever.

"Yeah, next time Mama Bear sees fit to pay me a visit, pretend I'm sleeping," Wilson responded with what the other man assumed was suppose to be a smirk. House let out a real, yet very quiet, laugh at this.

"Was she that bad?" he questioned.

"Wasn't her fault. I haven't been this lucid since you left this morning. You think I look pathetic now? You should have seen me around noon today." House made a move to reply, but hesitated when Wilson's eyes clamped shut again as he grabbed his abdomen and started to cough again. House replaced his hand on the man's chest, consciously this time, and used his elbow to prop himself up slightly. House waited, ready to grab the glass of water off the nightstand when the fit eased, but Wilson showed no signs off stopping. Even as out of practice as he was, House knew that this was not a good thing. Sitting straight up, he wasted no time in throwing the blankets away from the sick man's upper body, grabbing him under the arms, and pulling him somewhat awkwardly into a sitting position against him. Wilson cried out in protest as he did so, his right hand managing to find House's right pant leg and squeeze this fabric tight. House didn't have time to think about how good it felt not to be forced by pain to rip Wilson's hand away and wallow in his own misery. Instead, he placed his arm gently around Wilson's middle and held the younger man upright against his chest.

"Hey, hey! Slow down. Try to take slow deep breaths," he said softly in his friend's ear. Nothing could be done unless he could get him to relax. Wilson's grip tightened slightly, and he nodded his head as if to say he was already trying that without much success. "All right, just take it easy. It'll pass." Wilson nodded once again, this time saying, _'Thanks Captain Obvious! I never could have figured that out on my own! Doesn't stop it from hurting like a bitch!'_ House wondered if it was weird that he got all of that out of a nod. After quite a few painful seconds, the coughing did eventually begin to die down, but, unfortunately, didn't make House feel as relieved as he initially believed it would. Through the coughing, he could practically feel Wilson's temperature rising against him. If he kept this up, he was heading for the coldest shower of his life. But, being Wilson, House was sure he'd had more than his share of cold showers.

"Here. Take a sip," House said as he brought the water glass up to his friend's mouth. Wilson did as he was told, panting heavily from the subsequent breathlessness. Each breath was wheezy and difficult and House could hear an obvious fluid build up in his lungs. No this was definitely not good.

"Thanks," Wilson managed to wheeze as House took the water away.

"No problem," House replied, setting the glass back on the nightstand. "I'm gonna go get some more pillows so you can stay sitting up, but I need to go and get something, okay?" Wilson nodded his assent, _'I hope that something is a shotgun so you can put me out of my misery like in that movie with the dog that got rabies.'_ 'What was that movie called again?' House thought to himself as he pulled the extra pillows from the closet and arranged them behind Wilson with as much care as you could ask of him. He chose not to consider the irony of comparing Wilson to a dog yet again as he opened the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and grabbed the overdone first-aid kit Cameron had bought him for Christmas last year.

"Is everything all right?" Blythe asked as he was making his way back to the bedroom.

"Yeah, mom. I just need to check a few things. I don't think it's anything to worry about," he reassured her, hoping it was a satisfying enough answer to keep her busy with supper and not bugging them. What? He could only take so much kindness in one day before his brain exploded.

"First thing's first," House dug out the thermometer and showed it to Wilson. The younger man nodded his head. _'Do your worst.'_ House placed the thermometer in his ear gently, and shook his head at the reading, glad that Wilson had his eyes closed again. 103.7. Not good, but not an immediate threat just yet.

"Okay, Wilson, you're going to have to sit all the way up for a second if you can," House said as he sat the kit on the bed and began rearranging the pillows once more. Once he had Wilson up, moaning and whimpering all the way, he took out his stethoscope and placed it on Wilson's chest under his shirt. He could have still gotten a nice enough sound through the fabric, but Wilson was squirming some as the sickness hurt him and such actions tend to generate an _unpleasant _sound in such a device when it is placed over such material. Wilson winced from the cold, which caused a whole host of new pains to assault him, and House instantly regretted not trying through the shirt first.

"Deep breath, buddy," he said softly. Wilson bit his lip but did as he was told. After a few repetitions of this as House moved the stethoscope to various locations on the younger man's chest and back, House declared his work finished.

"Congratulations, Dr. Wilson. Looks like you've won a brand new case on pneumonia," he said as he took the ear buds out and placed the device back in his bag. Wilson groaned dramatically in response.

"Can I go back to sleep now?" he moaned. House smiled despite himself.

"Sure," he answered, helping the sick man to lie back down, still propped up on his gradient of pillows. House pulled the blankets up, sat the first-aid kit on the floor near the head of the bed, and stood to leave. A hand on his wrist stopped him.

"Wait," Wilson said, eyes flying open. House turned back, mildly surprised and very curious. Wilson immediately looked embarrassed and released the older man's wrist. "Um, do you think maybe you could…stay, for a while?" Wilson looked suddenly self-conscious, and for a moment House just stood there and stared at the younger man's face. No one had ever asked that of him before. Even Stacey would kick him out after the first ten minutes. He didn't even feel the grin that formed on his lips.

"Scootch over," he said. Wilson did so as much as he could, giving House only a sliver of mattress, but he could deal. Lifting the covers from the edge of the bed, House slipped underneath them with as much ease as a man in a brace could. Wilson immediately reached for him, but he stopped the younger man's movements by placing one arm around him and holding him gently in place. The sick man's eyes had closed again as he leaned his forehead in to rest against House's. House stroked his sweaty back softly in response, closing his own eyes. He didn't care if he got sick, and apparently Wilson didn't anymore either. Of course it could just be the confusion from the fever. The fact that the man was this lucid was a miracle. But as masculofeminine as Wilson was, he was never one to back down with out one hell of a fight. House guessed this applied to microscopic organisms as well.

The next time House opened his eyes, it was dark. Not only was it nighttime, but someone had pulled the curtain as well, shutting out the glow of that idiotically placed security light that his apartment's previous tenants had left him as a housewarming gift. Wilson was no longer wrapped around him in a suffocating cocoon of heat. Instead, the sick man was lying on his back, twisting and turning as the disease hurt him. The small whimpering noises he was making might have been funny if House's heart hadn't recently grown five sizes. House did snort at that one. What was with him comparing Wilson to dogs all the time? He really did look like a puppy though. No one could deny that.

Wilson's body continued to twitch with the pain, but his muscles were so rigid and weak that they barely moved. His fever hadn't gone up though. That was a good sign. Propping himself up on one elbow, house spared a glance at the clock. 9:37 it read. Five hours he'd been there. Great. Now he'd never get back to sleep. Wilson gave another loud whimper, and House was forced to feel sorry for him. Someone had also placed the bowl of cold water on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed as House had a few hours before. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the washcloth, soaked it, rang it out over the bowl, and placed it softly on Wilson's forehead. The fevered man leaned into it automatically. House moved slowly, patting down his face and neck with the cloth in one hand and using his other to brush the damp hair away from his scorching skin. Gradually, the whimpers turned into contented sighs as the young man began to settle into a more relaxed sleep. Once House was satisfied that Wilson was as comfortable as possible, he eased out from under the covers and quietly made his way out into the living room, keeping the door open a bit just in case.

"Good evening, Sleeping Beauty. Have a nice nap?" Blythe House asked from her seat at the edge of the sofa.

"Superb," House replied half-sarcastically. "Nice call with the blinds, by the way."

"I remember how much you complained about that light when you first moved in," his mother smiled. House grinned back and took a seat next to her.

"I don't suppose waking me crossed your mind?"

"Oh, you two just looked so adorable, I couldn't bring myself to do it. And James looked like he needed you," she replied, her smile unwavering. House rolled his eyes but noticed his own grin had not left his face. He was doing entirely too much smiling today, and it was about time to put an end to it. Besides, adorable was not an adjective he was comfortable with being used to describe him. "How is James?" Blythe asked, smile now faded into something more empathetic.

"Getting worse. Looks like the beginning of pneumonia," House answered, blunt as always.

"Oh, my. Should he be taken to the hospital?" asked the always overly concerned mother. She hadn't always been that way. Like her husband, Blythe House had never been that worried when one of them got sick. Serious illness was not something commonly seen in the House family. Sure with all the moving around they did they'd seen some tough things, but all of that happened to other people in other families. It wasn't until the death of Greg's sister that his mother developed this paranoia. It had been so sudden and unexpected and a lot like what was happening to Wilson right then.

"No, not yet. We may never have to. Especially with your very own doctor in residency," House tried to reassure her, looking around the room restlessly as he spoke. Blythe knew what that meant.

"If it's nothing serious, then what's on your mind?" she asked carefully, hoping her son would open up to her for once. She should have known better.

"Right now, Kate Beckinsale's breasts," he responded, staring at the television where is mother was ironically watching 'Much Ado About Nothing' on his TIVO. Blythe paid no attention to his attempted avoidance.

"Gregory, I know something is bothering you. So you can either tell me now or I will just keep bugging you until I figure it out. House gave his mother a calculating look, and he knew she was serious.

"You remember Lisa Cuddy?" he began slowly.

"Of course. Nice girl, bad sense of fashion," Blythe replied, happy her son had relented so easily. House cracked a small grin at that which quickly faded. Too much smiling. "She asked me to do something for her. Something big. And today I agreed."

"Think you could be any more vague about that?" Blythe responded with gentle sarcasm. House smirked again. Damn it!

"She, uh, she asked me to help her have…a…baby," House prepared himself for all possible reactions.

"Oh," his mother said, her expression unreadable. "Does James…know about this?"

"He knows she asked. He doesn't know I said yes. It's just one more thing for him to worry about. He doesn't need that right now," House explained. Blythe nodded absently, trying to figure out what to say. This had certainly not been what she had expected.

"And you're…sure about this? This is what you want?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Greg avoided.

"No, it's just…being a father is a serious commitment. Have you really thought this over?" his mother was using what he had recently designated her "Cameron" voice.

"Trust me, I live with a man who over thinks how much conditioner to use. Too much and his hair looks oily; too little and his hair's too frizzy. Just right and his hair looks and feels like it was ordered out of "Every Woman's Fantasy" magazine," House reverted to using sarcasm.

"Then why is it bothering you so much?" Blythe questioned. House looked up at her for a moment then turned to stare at something interesting on the wall to her left.

"I don't wanna screw this up," he replied quietly. Whether he was referring to the baby or his relationship with James, Blythe wasn't sure. Nor did she figure that it mattered. What did matter was that her son needed her. Although, under the circumstances, she wasn't quite sure what to say. Taking a deep breath, she carefully placed a gentle hand on his left knee and squeezed.

"Honey, nothing is certain in life. No matter what choices we make, there's always the chance that we might 'screw it up'. All we can do is try our best and hope that it's enough."

"And what if it isn't?" House asked, apparently finding the hand on his knee very interesting.

"Then we do what we can with whatever outcome there may be," Blythe continued reassuringly.

"Not everyone may be capable of keeping such a bright and cheerful outlook," the doctor pointed out, still staring downward.

"Then I'll do it for you," his mother told him firmly, giving his leg another strong and gentle squeeze. House looked up at her this time, an expression of mild, inadvertent surprise on his face. Blythe gave him a small smile. Much to her surprise, Greg smiled back. More of a grin really, but it was there.

"So, what have you been doing while the Boy Wonder and I are off saving the world?" House changed the subject. Blythe shook her head just barely. That was more like her son.

"I've been looking for an apartment, of course," she replied, going with it. Greg never was comfortable with emotions. "Nothing yet, but don't worry, I'll keep looking. I'll be out of your hair before you know it."

"Take your time," House told her.

"Thank you, dear. But I know how uncomfortable you must be with your old mother hanging around all the time. I certainly wouldn't have enjoyed my mother living in _my_ house," she smiled brightly. House gave another grin.

"It's fine. At least until Wilson's feeling better. Somebody has to be around to do everything for me." Blythe took the hand from his knee and smacked his arm playfully.

"Gregory House, that better not be the truth. Relationships are all about give and take," she reprimanded.

"Yeah, you mean like Wilson gives me food and I take it." House played dumb.

"You know very well that isn't what I mean!" Blythe continued, her smile still in place.

"Yes, mom, I know what you mean," House finally relented, finding himself too weary to keep arguing. Blythe raised her chin in triumph.

"Good. Now be quite. I'm missing my show." she scolded, turning back to face the television. House sat back as well. For a moment there was only silence as Benedict swore his undying love for Beatrice. But House could only take so much quite.

"So, who do you think's hotter, Keanu Reeves or Denzel Washington?"

* * *

Yay! Chapter 11 is here! Sorry it took so long! My internet sucks! Hope you enjoyed! Drop a hint if you did! Thanks! 


	12. Ethics Are For Squares

Things always get worse before they get better. At least that's what House kept telling himself. Wilson's condition had remained fairly steady for two more days. Blythe tried her damnedest to help take care of the sick man, but House had refused. Wilson would have a very bad week, but he would live. However, pneumonia is one of the leading causes of death in the elderly. Her just being in the same apartment was risk enough. House attempted to keep her busy with housework or ads for apartments nearby. She grabbed pillows and clean linen when House asked for it and made a different kind of soup for every meal. This was more due to a lack of groceries than anything else. Shopping was next on the "Effective Ways to Keep Mom Distracted" list.

Cuddy had even been kind enough to allow him time off to take care of Wilson. The diagnostics department had been going through a bit of a dry spell as of late, and she figured pneumonia was serious enough to warrant a little bit of a break. It wasn't like he was actually doing any work at the hospital anyway. Plus, House figured, it was a great way for her to escape any potential teasing he might have up his sleeve about her eggs being injected with his sperm. Hey, he had to pleasure himself him a tiny room that smelled like masturbation and antiseptic, then aim for a tiny plastic cup at what should have been the most enjoyable part of the entire process. Cuddy would survive a little private humiliation.

However, three days, four hours, and thirty-seven minutes after House had first diagnosed pneumonia, things took a rather disconcerting turn. Wilson's temperature spiked overnight, 105.3 and rising. Getting the young man in the shower was one of the hardest things House had ever done. He could no longer deny his mother's attempts to help, but still kept her as far away from the sick man as possible.

"Mom, I need you to run a cold shower then go and grab some towels and some clean blankets," he instructed as calmly as possible while Wilson tossed and turned and cried out in fevered delirium. Blythe nodded wordlessly in response before taking off toward the bathroom. House waited until he heard the water running before throwing the covers off of Wilson and lifting him into a fireman's carry over one shoulder. His right leg screamed in protest, not quite ready for the extra weight, but House ignored it. He had to.

Once in the bathroom, House threw open the shower door, eased Wilson down, wrapped his arms around the sick man's chest, and drug him carefully inside. Wilson reacted immediately, thrashing and screaming as the water hit his skin. Not that House could blame him. The water was freezing. House held Wilson tightly, placing his back against the wall and sliding them both to the floor as James begged him to make it stop. House tried to calm him, but his efforts were useless. Wilson was lost somewhere inside his own diseased mind.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, holding an exhausted Wilson and shaking with the cold. After a while, the younger man had calmed down and simply lay moaning and whimpering in House's arms. His temperature had gone down, but House was still concerned. Something wasn't right.

"Well, Wilson, I hope you're happy. I looked enough like a Raisin already, but this is ridiculous," he attempted to joke. Wilson's breath hitched in response, and House froze, listening carefully. There was another hitch then a drawn out silence before Wilson began to wheeze painfully, his hands suddenly clinging to whichever part of House he could reach. House immediately switched into doctor mode, holding the panic at bay.

"Mom!" he called, knowing the woman would be waiting right outside the door. As expected, she rushed inside with an aura of concern encompassing her.

"Right here," she announced needlessly.

"Turn off the water," he instructed in a slow, calm tone. The last thing he needed was for her to panic. Blythe did as she was told while House slid out from under James and on the ground carefully, his breath still coming in strangled wheezes. House took a hold of the other man's face and tapped it a little harder than necessary in an attempt to rouse him.

"Wilson, hey, hey! Wake up! Look at me! Wilson?" he spoke loudly, his face only inches from his friend's. The wheezes turned into harsh rasps, and House's voice took on a slightly angrier tone. "Damn it, Wilson, come on!" James' lips began to take on a faint bluish hue, and House paused, simply watching as Wilson struggled for breath. His chest wasn't moving. He was in respiratory distress. House turned his head to face his mother, keeping a cool countenance.

"Mom, I need you to get on the phone and call for an ambulance. He's not breathing," he said in the same slow, calm tone he'd used before. It didn't matter, though. Blythe had panicked all the same, running with the speed of an Olympic athlete to fetch the telephone. House then turned back to Wilson, hands still gripping the sick man's face lightly.

"Jimmy? Jimmy, listen to me. You need to breathe. Calm down and take a breath. Come on. Just breathe," House coaxed in the same tone he'd used on his mother. There was no use. Even if Wilson were lucid enough to understand, there would be nothing he could do.

Six minutes and twenty-three seconds later, House had never been so thankful he lived so close to the hospital. He'd dried Wilson off as best he could and wrapped him in the clean blankets his mother had brought, but James' breathing was getting worse by the minute.

"How about driving a little slower next time?" House shouted automatically as the paramedics rushed into his tiny bathroom. The EMTs ignored him, pulling out their portable oxygen supply. House decided they were moving much too slow and ripped the mask away from them.

"Okay, Wilson, breathe," House switched back to his previous tone while placing the mask over the sick man's nose and mouth. House listened as he continued to wheeze, but the rasp eased noticeably.

"Dr. House?" one of the EMTs asked as the others lowered a stretcher to the ground. House looked at them and nodded before backing away to let them work. He spotted his mother watching from the doorway and made his way over to her.

"Mom, I need to go with them. EMTs are idiots by nature. Will you be okay here?" he questioned quickly.

"You go ahead, honey. I'll drive and meet you there," Blythe replied, placing a hand on his arm.

"No. It's three in the morning. You don't need to be driving right now," House protested.

"Gregory, I will be fine, and you are not going to stay in that hospital all night alone," his mother insisted. House made a move to object, but the look on his mother's face halted the idea.

"Fine," he relented. He had no time to fight. "Take Wilson's car. Be careful."

"Always," she agreed. "Don't you want to change your clothes?"

"No time," he replied, gently ushering her out of the paramedics' path as they rushed Wilson from the room. "Listen, wait a while before you take off. Get dressed, get some coffee; calm your nerves. Don't rush. I'll see you there." He kissed her cheek and ran as fast as he could without a brace through the front door before she had a chance to respond.

One hour, thirty-two minutes, and fifty-three seconds after Wilson's impromptu shower, House found himself sitting, soggy and exhausted, beside his best friend's hospital bed with his trusty cane once again by his side. Going too long without a cane or his brace was still a bad idea. Wilson was breathing on his own, but House didn't like the sound of it. All of the important, healthy doctors were at home asleep, so he didn't have to worry about being bothered by any annoying visitors. And it gave him time to think. Something wasn't right. Wilson had been given the absolute best care possible. It couldn't have been better if he'd been in the hospital. He should be getting better, not worse.

"Greg, honey?" Blythe whispered from the doorway. House lifted his head out of his hands and turned to face her.

"Hi, mom," he greeted tiredly. Blythe gave him a wary grin as she stepped inside the room and stood next to his chair.

"How's our boy doing?" she asked quietly.

"Not so good," he replied vaguely. Blythe nodded, knowing it was all the answer she would get for a while.

"Here, I brought you these," she held out a change of clothes and his brace. "Go and change, get a cup of coffee; warm yourself up. Don't rush. I'll stay here with James. You worry about yourself for a little while."

House didn't smile or say thank you. He simply took the offered objects, stood carefully, and made his way out of the room without looking back. Blythe watched him leave, shook her head, then took the seat her son had just vacated.

"I tell you, James, that boy of mine is one great mystery himself."

"Please tell me you have a good reason for us to be here at five o'clock in the morning," Foreman groaned grumpily from his chair in the conference room forty-two minutes and twelve seconds after Blythe's arrival.

"Would I wake you all up in the wee hours of the morning for the sole purpose of torturing you for my own personal amusement?" House questioned in a fake hurt tone.

"Yes," Foreman responded with an expression that said, 'Duh!'

"Well your right," House smirked. All three ducklings gave him a look and moaned in exasperation. "_But _that's not why we're here." Their expressions were questioning now. "Got a new case." House tossed each of them a copy of the file.

"Why are your clothes wet?" Cameron asked, staring at the garments he had tossed aside as he entered the room.

"What would true love be without a song and dance number in the rain?" House replied in an overly sarcastic manner.

"It's winter," Cameron pointed out.

"Fine. You caught me," House raised his hands in surrender. "Wilson wanted me to take a shower with him this morning, but I told him we couldn't see each other naked until he makes an honest woman out of me. So we decided to just jump in, clothes and all."

"Do you really have to tell us these things? You're giving me nightmares," Chase complained, running a hand through his messy early morning hair.

"Tell your girlfriend to stop asking stupid questions," House shrugged. "From now on, every time one of you asks or says anything that doesn't relate directly to the file in front of you, I'll reveal another naughty little fact about my hot, sweaty, homoerotic sex life."

"Welcome to hell," Chase whispered more to himself than anyone else as he dropped his head into his hands. House ignored him and uncapped his dry-erase marker.

"All right, thirty-eight year old, otherwise healthy, Caucasian male. Symptoms thus far: high fever, severe headaches, muscle soreness, weakness, nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, fluid in the lungs, and more recently," he left the sentence open as he wrote 'Respiratory Distress' at the bottom of the list. "Differential diagnosis?"

"It's flu season. He probably caught the flu, which in turn led to pneumonia. Simple," Forman said complacently.

"Too simple," Cameron replied. "House wouldn't call us down here at four in the morning for a case of pneumonia."

"Thank you, Cameron, for saving me the trouble of shooting down such a ridiculous suggestion," House told her.

"It's not ridiculous. The symptoms fit," Foreman defended.

"True, but the sudden onset of the symptoms combined with the fact that the patient has been getting treatment for pneumonia for the past three days begs to differ," House argued.

"So they called you in in the middle of the night? It couldn't wait until morning?" Chase questioned, still not quite sure why he'd come in so early. "And you came willingly?" House got a thoughtful look on his face.

"I didn't really have a choice in the matter," he responded. "And since I was already here, I figured we might as well get a head start."

"House, this is Wilson's file. We're diagnosing Wilson?" said a suddenly shocked Cameron.

"Damn. Did I forget to white out his name?" House questioned sardonically.

"You can't treat Wilson," Cameron continued.

"Yes, I can," House argued. "Read the name under Primary Physician."

"That was before you started sleeping with him," Cameron pointed out.

"Except I'm not sleeping with him, so there's no problem," House turned back to the whiteboard.

"Wait a second. You and Wilson aren't sleeping together?" asked a suddenly interested Chase.

"That depends on your definition," House turned back around in frustration. "We sleep in the same bed,_ together_, in the literal since. But if you're talking figuratively, our asses are still virgins." House suddenly looked thoughtful again. "Well, at least mine is. You never know about Wilson. The man is quite the compulsive liar." He turned back to the marker board again.

"Then why did you –" Chase began.

"Because I wanted to annoy you! Kind of like what you're doing to me now! Differential diagnosis," House was rapidly losing any patience he may have had.

"House, you can't take this case. Sex or no sex, Wilson is still your boyfriend. It's unethical –"

"Oh, will you shut up about ethics already!" House turned to her in anger. "I don't give a damn! James Wilson is a patient in this hospital who is suffering from an unknown illness! Now, to me, that sounds like something that a diagnostics team should probably be handling, how about you? Differential diagnosis!"

"I'm calling Cuddy," Cameron would not back down.

"No, you're not," House didn't shout, but kept a dangerous tone.

"You can't take this case," Cameron insisted, standing up slowly.

"It's already mine," House argued.

"Not for long. I'm not gambling Wilson's life on the off chance that you might magically be able to summon up enough impartiality to be able to do what's necessary," Cameron glared sternly then turned on her heels, swung the door open, and marched quickly down the hallway. Chase and Foreman watched her go then turned back to House questioningly.

"I didn't think she'd ever leave," House answered, his voice nearly back to normal. "Now one of you give me something useful."

"How certain are we that this isn't pneumonia? It can become this severe," Foreman offered, glad to be rid of the drama.

"In eighty-year-olds, snotty-nosed preschoolers, and the immunocompromised, not in young, healthy adults. This isn't pneumonia," House insisted. "However, Cuddy is going to want proof, and since you're so adamant about the pneumonia diagnosis, you can go get a sample of the fluid in his lungs as soon as we have at least one better idea."

"All right, meningitis and encephalitis could account for most of his symptoms," Foreman offered.

"Except for the whole drowning in his own fluids thing," House mentally rolled his eyes.

"Not if he had the flu to begin with," Foreman pointed out.

"Yet again your suggestion is ridiculous on more levels than I can count, but, thanks to Cameron, I have very little time to argue. So, on the board it goes."

"Tuberculosis is pretty likely," Chase suggested. "And psittacosis. The children's ward has a pet bird in one of the play rooms"

"I like TB," House said as he wrote it down. "Psittacosis is a long shot without anything similar being reported with the children or staff down there, but it's no worse than Foreman's brilliant idea."

"Typhoid fever or rheumatic fever could do it as well," Foreman ignored his boss' sarcasm.

"Or toxic shock syndrome," Chase added.

"Okay, I like it," House said as he finished writing and turned back to face them. "Here's what we're gonna do, you suggest it, you test for it. If you need me, I'll be in Cuddy's office making sweet, sweet love," he ordered the remainder of his team. Both of them stood and left without question.

For a moment, House simply stood staring at the words on the whiteboard, hating it for the first time. He knew he'd be getting a page from Cuddy very soon. She was going to be pissed over the eminent rude awakening she was no doubt receiving. His leg had been giving him hell ever since his little moment of heroism earlier that morning. The weakness was starting to get to him; the last thing he needed was more stress. Giving a heavy sigh, House picked up the cane he had leaned against the table before his fellows arrived and gave it a few frustrated taps on the ground. Using the thing was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn't keep Wilson's overly concerned voice out of his head until he did. Ignoring the pager beeping loudly against his hip, House lifted his marker, and, on the top of the board wrote, "No one".

* * *

Well, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Any feedback would be wonderful! It keeps my muse happy! Thank you for your time. Chapter 13 coming very soon!


	13. Cuddy and kidneys and lungs, OH MY!

"House, you can't take this case," Cuddy said wearily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. It had been twenty-seven minutes and fifty-two seconds since Cameron's hissy fit in the conference room, and her mood had not wavered at all. She stood to the side now, watching as the tired Dean of Medicine attempted to handle her overly irritable Head of Diagnostics.

"I already have," argued the annoyed House.

"Well, I'm taking it from you," Cuddy told him. "Do you really expect me to believe that you can remain impartial to Wilson's case? You're already making wild assumptions. You have no reason to believe that this is anything more than pneumonia."

"You mean besides the fact that I've been treating him for pneumonia for the past three days," House retorted, more a statement than a question.

"Some severe cases –"

"Oh, stop! I've already been through this. It isn't pneumonia, and as soon as Foreman decides to get his lazy ass back with the negative results –"

"House," Foreman said immediately as he stuck his head inside Cuddy's office. "It's not pneumonia." House gave Cuddy a 'so there' look.

"You finished testing for all the subtypes of pneumonia already?" Cuddy questioned skeptically. Foreman shook his head.

"Didn't need to. A nurse paged me to Wilson's room a few minutes ago."

"Why?" House asked, keeping concern out of his expression.

"She found blood in his urine. His kidneys are shutting down," Foreman replied, a hint of dejection in his voice. To the side, Cameron's mouth went agape and her arms slowly uncrossed in a silent expression of concern.

"Hmm, kidney failure. That fits perfectly with your pneumonia diagnosis. Oh, wait! No, it doesn't!" House told Cuddy sardonically. Cuddy watched him sternly for a long moment, taking a deep breath before replying.

"Fine. Take the case," she relented. "But I'm going to be keeping an eye on you."

"Do whatever you want with your eyes. I've got a patient you save," House said nonchalantly as he made his way to the door.

"House," Cuddy called after him. He turned his head toward her in response. "Don't screw this up." House kept walking.

Once he was out of sight, Cuddy hung her head and shook it a little. Cameron huffed and stood in front of the older woman's desk.

"That's it? You're just going to let him have the case? Just like that?" she questioned.

"And how exactly would you like me to stop him?" Cuddy replied, exasperated.

"You're his boss," Cameron stated the obvious.

"Yeah, and when has he ever cared about that?" Cuddy continued.

"This is Wilson we're talking about."

"You think I don't know that?" Cuddy's voice rose slightly out of frustration. "If this gets to the point where I don't think he can handle it, I will pull the case. But we are not anywhere near that point yet, and if we take this from him now and something were to happen to Wilson, do you think he would ever be able to forgive us?"

"Do you think that if he does take the case and something still happens to Wilson, he would be able to forgive himself?" Cameron questioned adamantly. Cuddy's expression was filled with torment as she considered the situation in her mind.

"It's a risk that we have to be prepared to take. Now go do your job," Cuddy ordered, not harshly but authoritatively. Cameron looked as if she was going to speak but thought better of it. Instead, she turned on her heels and made her way to the door.

"Cameron," Cuddy called after her. The younger woman turned to face her again. "Keep an eye on him." The small doctor still kept silent but nodded in agreement before exiting. Cuddy didn't bother watching her leave. As soon as the door closed, she sat down heavily in her chair and put her head in her hands. This was going to be a long day.

Three hours, forty-two minutes, and fifteen seconds after Cuddy's arrival, Blythe House sat exhaustedly in the chair next to James Wilson's hospital bed. She knew something was very wrong by the way the other doctors were acting, but each of her attempts to gather any useful information were answered obscurely and evasively. Her son had not been back since she sent him off earlier that morning. This left her very concerned. Surely he would want to visit his terribly sick partner. The other doctors made excuses for him, but it wasn't hard to see through them. Greg was avoiding her and James, and she had no idea why. Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as James gave a weak moan and the hand she had been holding gave hers a small squeeze.

"James?" Blythe asked softly. James turned his head toward the sound of her voice, but his eyes did not open.

"Hmngh?" was all he managed to say.

"James, it's Blythe House, sweetie," she moved her free hand up to smooth his damp hair once again. Slowly and carefully, James attempted to open his eyes and focus on the woman beside him.

"Huh, wha…I…uhngh," he tried, but the fever still had a tight hold over him.

"What is it? Do you want some water?" Blythe questioned softly. James nodded, giving a harsh wet cough. Blythe quickly reached over and grabbed the glass from the bedside table. Placing one hand under his neck, she helped him stay upright enough to take a drink, pausing every few seconds for him to cough or take a painful breath.

Blythe was helping him take one last sip when he suddenly went rigid. She placed a hand on his forearm in concern before he gave a gasping cough; causing Blythe to fumble for a grip on the plastic cup, spilling most of its contents into James' lap. However, there was no time for regard to this as the young man began to gasp, struggling uselessly for air, his eyes wide open in blind panic. Startled by the sudden shrill shrieking of several machines around her, Blythe jumped to her feet, cup falling, forgotten, to the floor as she raced to the door and screamed for help.

Streaks of white and blue came flying into the room as doctors and nurses rushed to respond to the code. Blythe knew these doctors. Chase and Foreman, that was their names. She remembered them as being calm, reassuring, and professional. They had spoken to her as if she had nothing to fear; that they would all be resting comfortably at home very soon. Now, however, they did not look like those same doctors at all. These men were frantic, talking fast and screaming orders. James continued to gasp and choke on the bed as Dr. Chase yelled something about respiratory arrest and Dr. Foreman shouted for him to intubate. Blythe stood frozen in the doorway, watching helplessly and feeling completely useless. The machines continued to scream, and time seemed to slow down before her eyes. Suddenly she was very light-headed and dizzy, so she closed her eyes tightly and began to pray, _"Please, God, don't take him from us. Don't take him from my son."_

House let out a heavy sigh, hung his head, and put his hands up to massage his temples. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, and one hand went instinctively to his pocket. He flinched involuntarily, though, as all he found was an empty hole. After he'd woken from the coma and this thing with Wilson had started, House hadn't really thought about the Vicodin much. His new life had become a welcome distraction, and detoxing while in that coma had been a big help as well. While House knew that he would probably never stop craving the damn things, for the first time since the infarction, he didn't care. He needed a clear head now. Maybe without the fog of the narcotics he could do it better and faster. Yeah, sure…maybe.

"House," it was Foreman again. House could tell by his tone of voice that he was not going to like whatever it was he had to say.

"Figured it out so soon?" he questioned sarcastically. For the first time that day, there was no hint of even vague amusement on the neurologist's face as he shook his head.

"Got a new symptom," he replied, sounding non-too enthusiastic. House didn't wait for him to say it. Instead, he used his cane to lift himself from his seat before limping briskly to the conference room, standing in front of the whiteboard, and uncapping a marker. Foreman followed a little too patiently for House's liking.

"Okay, shoot," he said, sounding impatient although he was really in no hurry.

"Wils –" Foreman began.

"Apbupbup!" House interrupted warningly. Foreman gave him a frustrated look but continued.

"_The patient_ went into respiratory arrest. We had to intubate –"

"Ack! I don't need details unless it's medically relevant. I know what you do to patients in respiratory failure. I don't need you to break it down for me," House told him, perhaps a bit more angrily than he had intended. "So, that gets rid of meningitis, encephalitis, and typhoid fever." House said aloud as he crossed each disease off the board. "Three down, three to go."

"Look, I really think you should –" foreman began.

"Where are Chase and Cameron with my test results?" House continued rambling, ignoring the other doctor.

"House –" Foreman tried again but was ignored once more.

"I can't believe you left those two alone. They're probably in the supply room making short, blonde, overly sensitive, wombat offspring –"

"House!" Foreman practically yelled. To his surprise, House stopped talking. Recovering quickly, he continued. "What are you doing here?"

"Now I'm just being annoyed, but I was solving –" his boss began, but it was Foreman's turn to interrupt.

"No. You're not. Even with the new symptom, there's nothing you can do until the lab is free again and we get our tests done. The first tests we ran were the three you just crossed off the board. There is absolutely for you to do in here but think, and you can do that anywhere."

"If there's a point to this, please get to it," House said impatiently, a hint of warning in his voice.

"Go see him," Foreman told him.

"What part of remaining indifferent is difficult for you to understand?" House questioned, his frustration growing with each passing second.

"You're not indifferent, House. There's no way you possibly could be. Do you really think that by using all this smoke and mirrors on yourself will somehow trick your mind into forgetting just who we're dealing with here?" Foreman paused. He'd let his anger win out, which was something he had not intended to do Remembering the look in Blythe House's eyes as they rushed into Wilson's room, he took a deep breath and forced himself to continue as calmly as he could manage. "If not for Wilson, than do it for your mother. The woman looks like she hasn't slept in days. For God's sake, it's not like she's a young woman. Maybe you can handle this kind of stress, but not everyone can. You already lost your father to a heart attack, do you really want the same thing to happen to your mother?"

"She's fine," House replied weakly.

"She's not fine! You didn't see her down there. She looked like she'd seen a ghost. Once we got Wilson stabilized, we had to get her to lie down before she passed out!" the anger was winning again, but Foreman didn't care this time. Leaving your own mother out to dry was a pretty low thing to do, even for House whom, even after hearing of his mother's condition, simply stood in place and stared back at him. "You really don't care, do you? You'd rather sulk in the dark in your little glass office and let your own mother get sick with worry than visit your best and only friend. He could be dying knowing that you don't want to see him. How will you feel when you never get the chance to say goodbye?"

Foreman didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he stormed out the door without a second glance. He was well aware of just how incredibly melodramatic he had just been, courtesy of his semester of Theater class in college, but the situation had deemed it necessary. Things were getting out of hand. He could tolerate House's attitude toward any other patient, but this was unexceptable. He saw first hand the hell this was putting that sweet old lady through, and although the neurologist may not have been particularly fond of House, the man's mother was as genuine as they come. He couldn't help but feel a strange need to protect her. Any psychologist would tell you it was a misplaced desire to help his own ailing mother, but Foreman didn't care. Someone had to do something, and he thought it was better he got to House before Cameron.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed Chapter 13! I hope there wasn't too many mistakes. It was posted in a bit of a hurry. I would like to say a quick thank you to all my reviewers! You are are so lovely, encouraging, and helpful! I hope to continue to please and improve! Chapter 14 should be up later this week! (crosses fingers) 


	14. Aqua Fortis

Four hours, seven minutes, and twenty-three seconds after Foreman's eye-opening lecture, House was still moping about in his office. Foreman was wrong; he couldn't think _anywhere_, he could only think _here_. What good would it do to go watch the patient suffer? He'd been watching that all week. Let someone else deal with it. His job was to solve the puzzle, not hold the patient's hand. And this particular puzzle seemed to be missing a few pieces.

"Okay, that makes us 0 in 6," House said as nonchalantly as he could manage while crossing "Toxic Shock Syndrome" off the board. "The floor is now open for anymore bright ideas."

"Toxic shock syndrome was our best bet," Chase replied, obviously frustrated. "It accounts for everything."

"Then we're missing something," House told his fellows while keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the hopeless board.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but there is a rather likely possibility that we haven't explored," Cameron began slowly and sympathetically. "Cancer."

"It isn't cancer," House's tone didn't change, but his voice was quieter.

"House, think about it. Multiple system failure, compromised immune system –"

"It's not cancer!" House yelled suddenly, slamming his marker back into the tray, turning swiftly and walking quickly out the door; abandoning his cane. Cameron rose to go after him, furious that he would just walk away from this after being so stubbornly insistent about making it his case, but Foreman's hand on her arm stopped her.

"Don't," he told her in a tone that he knew she would respond to. For a moment Cameron was confused, staring at him questioningly, but his eyes told her everything she needed to know. Maybe House would finally go to Wilson.

"Dr. House! Dr. House!" a small voice called out from seemingly nowhere, and before he had a chance to turn around, House felt a tiny pair of arms wrap around his legs. Stumbling slightly, he managed to find his balance and looked down to see a set of big, green, familiar eyes smiling up at him.

"Hey there, Bambi. Did you miss me?" he did his best to smile back.

"Uh huh," she nodded vigorously. She was wearing a brown, curly wig now, and it bobbed back and forth slightly as her head moved.

"Angel!" a man's voice suddenly called out. House looked up to see a tall, balding man running toward them with one arm stretched out. Firmly but gently, the man took a hold of one of Bambi's arms and pulled her back slightly.

"I am so sorry," a fairly short, green-eyed woman said as she ran up to stand next to the man. Hmm, bald head, green eyes – yep, these were definitely Bambi's parents. "I just don't know what got into her."

"It's fine," House assured them. "We know each other. I'm a doctor here."

"Oh, are you an oncologist?" the green-eyed woman asked politely.

"No, but I do a lot of consultations in that area," he lied. Had this moment occurred a five days ago, he would have very politely explained how he and his oncologist boyfriend ate lunch in their daughter's hospital room everyday and that he was teaching her how to gamble in his free time. The kid had quite the poker face. She even beat Wilson out of twenty bucks. However, he was in a hurry today and was desperately trying to come up with a way to get rid of them as quickly as possible.

"Mommy, daddy! He's Dr. House! He's the magic man that gave me my bow!" Bambi exclaimed excitedly, panting the pink bow stuck to her chest.

"Ah, so you're the famous Dr. House," the bald man said while placing both his hands on either of Bambi's shoulders. "We've certainly heard a lot about you."

"Really?" House didn't care.

"Oh yes. It's _Dr. House this_, _Dr. Wilson that_, constantly with her," the dad gave his daughter's shoulders a small squeeze. "She's very fond of you both." Upon hearing Wilson's name, House decided to seize the moment.

"Dr. House, guess what! Guess what!" Bambi beat him to the punch. "I get to go home today!" That's right. Wilson had said something about her going into remission.

"Wow! That's great!" he exclaimed, pretending for her sake to be surprised. Bambi giggled the way only she could.

"And when I get all better, my daddy said he'll teach me to be a hunter just like him!" House had to suppress a laugh at that one. Of course Bambi's dad would be a hunter. The irony was almost too much for him to handle maturely.

"Good for you! Recover from a potentially deadly illness just in time to get your head shot off by some half-brained Dick Cheney wanna be," House spoke cheerfully enough that Bambi wouldn't realize exactly what he was saying, but bluntly enough for her trigger-happy parents to get the message loud and clear. Bambi's dad gave a little cough in what seemed to be a feeble attempt to clear his throat of some imaginary mucus.

"Right, well, come on, Angel. Let's let the nice doctor get back to work. I'm sure he's very busy."

"Okay, daddy," Bambi never lost her smile. Any outside observer witnessing the scene might wonder if the girl were born with any emotion other than happiness, but House knew better. Although he had met the child when she was very close to remission, Wilson had told him stories. He knew the sadness and anger and pain this seemingly blissful five-year-old had gone through. Maybe that was what kept House from being a total ass in her presence. It seemed a lame excuse, though. Such facts had never stopped him from being himself before. "Bye, Dr. House!"

"See ya 'round, Bambi," he gave a little wave. Her parents eyed him wearily as they led their daughter away, both looking slightly confused at the unfamiliar nickname. House stood in place for a moment, watching them round the corner before continuing on his way.

Although his meeting with Bambi had inexplicably cheered him up a bit, his dreary, sullen mood returned immediately as he stood outside Wilson's hospital room in the ICU. On his way down, he had had every intention of going inside. However, as he stood in front of the glass window looking in, he found his feet unable to move. Wilson did not look like himself. He was nearly as white as the sterile hospital sheets that surrounded him, his hair was damp and plastered to his forehead as a result of the still dangerously high fever, tubes ran from everywhere; from under the blankets, his arms, his mouth… He'd had two seizures since his lungs had failed, and they were still no closer to figuring this out. Sighing, House spared a glance at his mother and winced. The woman really did look bad. Sitting awkwardly with her head lying back, curving her neck over the back of the chair slightly as she took what had to be the world's most uncomfortable nap, she looked nearly as pale as Wilson. One of her petite hands held gently to the sick man's even in sleep, and suddenly House felt a stabbing pang of guilt. For the first time since Wilson had gotten sick, he realized exactly why his mother was exhausting herself in his lover's hospital room. That was when it hit him, like a freight train to a stalled Pinto. He'd figured it out.

He knew what was wrong with Wilson.

Meanwhile, Cameron, Foreman, and Chase sat in the conference room in mid-debate.

"We can't just sit here. Whether Wilson has cancer or not, we're wasting time he may not have," Cameron argued.

"Would you relax for a second?" Foreman replied. "A few minutes isn't going to make that big of a difference."

"He's right, Cameron," Chase backed him up. "House knows what he's doing. He wouldn't do anything that would put Wilson in danger."

"Not on purpose, but –" Cameron was interrupted by the sound of three pagers going off.

"It's Wilson," Chase announced needlessly. Instantly, they were on their feet and heading out the door.

"House, what –" Cameron began as she, Chase, and Foreman entered the room to find House skimming his now glove-covered fingers through Wilson's hair, his face only inches from the other man's head. However, she was immediately silenced by House as he put a finger to his lips then pointed to his still sleeping mother.

"What are you doing?" she whispered quietly.

"Human granulocytotropic anaplasmosis," he whispered in response, continuing his search.

"What? A tick-borne disease? It's winter," Cameron replied.

"Barely. Besides, it doesn't matter. The tick could have been living on their dog, hiding on their clothes, or even stuck to her teddy bear," House explained.

"House, who are you talking about?" Chase whispered in question.

"Bambi," House said. "She's a little cancer kid of Wilson's. Her dad's a hunter. He goes hunting; a tick catches a ride on daddy's favorite hat. He comes to the hospital, hugs is daughter; the tick jumps ship. Cute little green-eyed girl paints a picture for Dr. Jimmy; Jimmy's maternal instincts kick in, and he gets a hug of his very own. Our ineffectual, parasitic friend spots the Boy Wonder's luscious, thick head of strawberry scented hair and goes for the gold."

"That's quite the theory," Foreman whispered skeptically.

"Not anymore," House responded while leaning in even closer and seeming to pinch the skin just behind Wilson's left ear. "Now it's quite the fact." Carefully, he lifted into sight the wriggling, fat, black parasite. Foreman and Chase wore matching expressions of shock. Cameron's nostrils flared as her face contorted in disgust.

"Chase, start him on doxycycline. Foreman, Cameron, run a blood-smear microscopy and do an IHC staining to confirm," House ordered, picking up the empty water glass next to Wilson's bed and dropping the parasite inside. Then, taking off one of his gloves, he wrapped it over the open end of the cup and began to shake it. "If you need me, I'll be in my office," he informed them, shaking the cup from side to side like a maraca before twirling out of the room.

Three hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fourteen seconds after his miraculous epiphany, House sat outside his office on the balcony he shared with Wilson. He held a vile of colorless liquid horizontally at eye level with three fingers on either end, moving each side up and down like a seesaw; creating makeshift waves. The door slid open behind him, but he didn't acknowledge it. Maybe if he ignored the intruder they would go away.

"House?" Damn. Cameron. He wasn't sure he could handle another lecture without demonstrating to her some of the more violent things he could now do with his pain-free leg.

"Busy," he responded shortly.

"With what?" she questioned skeptically but kindly. House instinctively knew her eyes had settled on the tube in his hands.

"Aqua fortis," he told her.

"Um..?" she had no idea what that meant.

"Nitric acid," he continued matter-of-factly.

"Where'd you get nitric acid?" Cameron asked, obviously not sure what to make of his behavior.

"Swiped it from one of the labs," he answered.

"Why?" questioned the very confused Cameron.

"Voodoo ritual. What else?"" he replied, sounding serious. Even though he couldn't see her, House could feel Cameron rolling her eyes. "Did you want something or does the back of my head just turn you on? Never knew you had a thing for bald spots. Chase'll be devastated if he has to shave the back of that silky, golden head to keep you interested." Cameron took a deep breath, and House could almost hear her counting slowly to ten in her head.

"I just came to tell you that the blood-smear revealed morulae in the cytoplasm, and the examination of the serum samples showed a significant rise in antibody titter. It's definitely HGA. We should start to see some improvement by this time tomorrow," she informed him professionally.

"That's not the only reason you came all the way out here to find me. Seeing how I already knew you'd find all of that, such an action would have been a completely stupid thing to do. And, while you are endlessly annoying, you are not _completely _stupid. Which can only mean you have another heartfelt speech hidden in those sorry excuses for breasts," House said coldly, finally turning his head to look at her. A hint of anger struck the woman's face. That was more like it.

"You need to go back there," she told him sternly.

"Can't. Voodoo ritual, remember?" he replied.

"You're not the doctor anymore. You did your job. You figured it out. It's time to go be the loved one now," Cameron elaborated.

"Are you insane? You know I'm allergic to any form of affection! Are you trying to get me killed?" House exclaimed sarcastically.

"I can't believe you're joking about this!" yelled the appalled Cameron.

"How long have you known me?"

"Wilson almost died, and you're acting like you don't even give a damn!"

"You're absolutely right! My best friend is laid up in the ICU hooked to dialysis, a respirator, and God knows how many other things; seizing every twenty minutes because a fever is slowly melting his brain, and I couldn't care less!" House shouted, standing and approaching her dangerously as he spoke. "What a brilliant diagnosis, doctor! You must be some kind of psychologist or something!" Cameron took a careful step back.

"House, I was just –"

"I know what you were doing! You were doing what you always do – sticking your nose where it doesn't belong! Now why don't you run along and cry on your girlfriend's shoulder and leave me to deal with this the way I choose!" House emphasized his statement by pointing sharply at the door as he spoke. Cameron's jaw set roughly as if she were literally biting back a retort.

"At least come inside. It's freezing our here. You'll catch your death," she told him. Her voice was quiet again, but a hint of self-confidence could still be heard. Before House could reply, the woman turned sharply and re-entered the hospital.

Letting out a heavy sigh, House turned back around and resumed his previous position. He was holding the vile in his left hand now, so he used his right to uncap it. White fumes began to billow out immediately, blending like fog in the soft evening breeze. House, however, paid no attention as he reached down beside him to pick up the plastic cup and remove it's rubber covering. Using a pair of tweezers, he reached inside and grabbed the squirming parasite. Squinting, he examined it as a jeweler might a diamond, hatred pulsing through every inch of his body. Then, very carefully, he held the tick over the open vile and dropped it inside. Quickly placing the cap back on, he once again shifted it horizontally, and began making tiny waves; smirking with perverse pleasure as he watched the parasite dissolve slowly into nothing.

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End chapter 14. I hope you enjoyed! Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You are all amazing. Keep 'em coming. My muse uses them for energy. Next chapter: Hidden secrets come into the light. (See I can be dramatic like the Fox commercials! It's actually kind of fun! Now all I need is that TV voice over guy...)


	15. Emma

"Good evening, Mrs. House. How's our patient doing today?" Dr. Cameron smiled as she entered Wilson's hospital room twenty-two hours, fifty-four minutes, and nineteen seconds after her fruitless conversation with her boss. Blythe House was standing next to Wilson's bed, brushing his hair back maternally. The elder woman looked up when the doctor entered and gave a wan smile of her own.

"Better, I think. His temperature feels lower, and he hasn't been so restless. But, then again, I'm no doctor," she gave a humorless laugh. Cameron gave her another grin before setting about checking the various monitors and statistics.

"I think you're right. He's definitely showing some significant signs of improvement," Cameron widened her smile even more and touched the older woman's arm encouragingly before turning to leave.

"Dr. Cameron?" Blythe stopped her. "How is Greg taking all of this?" Cameron's smile disappeared.

"He hasn't been down here?" she questioned, feeling shocked but knowing she really shouldn't be. Blythe shook her head.

"I haven't seen him since I arrived here."

"Really?" Cameron shifted her weight.

"I know he must have been very busy before, but surely he could make the time now," the obviously exhausted woman continued.

"Well, Dr. House is the Head of his department. He always has a lot of work to do, even after a case is finished," the young doctor half-lied. There was a lot of work to be done, but House was never the one doing it. Blythe nodded wearily, looking back down at Wilson, and Cameron felt a sharp pang of sympathy.

"I'll tell you what, I have to be in the clinic in a couple of minutes, but I'll have Dr. Cuddy find him for you."

"Thank you, dear," Blythe grinned gratefully. Cameron smiled back before making a swift exit and heading straight for Cuddy's office.

One hour, ten minutes, and twenty-seven seconds later, the door to House's balcony opened up once again. Lisa Cuddy stepped out into the cold winter evening and pulled her jacket tighter around herself before closing the door. House remained in his position on the ground, having no intention of acknowledging whoever was disturbing him now. Why couldn't anyone in this hospital take a hint?

"House?" Cuddy's voice was soft as she stepped forward, taking her time while approaching him.

"I knew I should have locked that door," he told her, voice barely audible from where she stood.

"Wouldn't have done you any good," Cuddy grinned while taking a seat beside him. "I have a key."

"As far as you know," House almost sounded like himself, but he did not face his boss when he spoke. Cuddy gave a small laugh for the circumstance's sake but made a mental note to check her keys later.

"Cameron says you haven't seen Wilson or your mother since his admittance," she decided to get this over with.

"Cameron needs to mind her own business," the older doctor replied, and though he tried to hide it, Cuddy saw him shiver.

"Are you all right?" she asked with a concerned frown.

"Fine," House replied, looking down, hiding his eyes that could reveal so much.

"You're lying she told him bluntly, reminding him she knew better.

"I said _I'm fine_," he finally looked up at her, 'Leave it alone' clear in his eyes. "How about you, Dr. Cuddy? Did my little swimmers do the trick, or was it strike one?"

"I just had the procedure two days ago. I won't know for a few weeks. Now stop trying to change the subject. You need to get down there."

"Past experience has taught me that when what other people think I need and what I know I need differ, always go with the opinion of the one with the highest IQ. And, you know it's funny, I always seem to win."

"House, Wilson woke up about ten minutes ago," Cuddy began. An emotion flashed across House's face, but it disappeared too quickly for her to decipher. "He's off the respirator, and he's asking for you." She paused to allow him time to take in this new information. "Whatever this is that the two of you have going, it works. It's good for you. You almost seemed…happy. But the bitch about being in a real relationship is you actually have to be there for the other person. He needs you now. Don't screw this up."

She spoke her last words as a warning before getting to her feet. She gave the diagnostician one last glance before turning on her heels and leaving him alone once more with only the winter's first snow to keep him company.

When house entered the room, he wasn't surprised to find both of its occupants sleeping soundly. It had been thirty-two minutes and fifty-one seconds since Cuddy had left him sitting outside, and his damaged right leg was telling him off for staying out so long in the freezing night air. He felt stiffer than he had felt in a long time. Sucking it up, he closed the door quietly behind himself and slowly made his way over to his mother's chair.

"Mom," House whispered, placing a hand on her shoulder. Blythe started awake, nearly jumping out of her seat, but she relaxed when she saw her son standing above her.

"Oh, Greg!" the elderly woman put a hand to her chest in relief. "It's only you."

"Didn't mean to scare you," he apologized.

"Honey, are you all right?" Blythe asked, suddenly concerned as her vision cleared and she took in her son's appearance. Had he slept at all? His nose and cheeks were tinged with red, his clothes and hair seemed a bit damp, and she could feel how cold his hand was through her shirt. Surely he hadn't been outside in this weather.

"I'm fine," House lied. "I had a few orderlies get a spare room ready for you."

"Thank you, but you look like you could use the rest more than I could," the woman hinted subtly. House shook his head.

"I – I think I should be here," he explained. Blythe stared into her child's beautiful blue eyes for a long moment and, for the first time in a long time, found herself unable to read them. But, even though she was still worried, she understood his desire to be there. So she gave a nod of assent, squeezed Greg's hand, and relinquished her chair.

House didn't see her leave the room. He kept his eyes focused on the man lying so still on the bed before him. He never heard her return two minutes and seven seconds later. He was unaware of anything but the rhythmic beating of the heart monitor until something solid blocked his view and a thick blanket was draped over his lap. Surprised, he looked up to see his mother's anxious face.

"Either the blanket stays or I do," she stated. House gave her a small grin and pulled the blanket up further in response. Blythe grinned back wearily before squeezing her son's shoulder and leaving once more. House let out a small sigh as the door closed, taking one hand out from under the blanket and pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel another headache coming on and cursed under his breath. He was still getting use to these everyday aches and pains that his leg pain and vicodin had suppressed for the past six years, but considering the excruciating pain he was use to living with, he figured it could be worse.

"House?" The man in question dropped his hand and looked up at the sound of the weak whisper. He wanted to smile when he saw the big brown eyes staring back at him, but he resisted. Why would Wilson be happy to see him? After all, he'd no less than abandoned the man when he'd needed him the most.

"Hey, Jimmy. How are you feeling?" House questioned awkwardly.

"Better now," came the quiet reply. House nodded in response then looked down. He hadn't felt this guilty in a long time. Even in his hazy, slightly fevered state, Wilson could sense something was wrong. "House?" the sick man filled his voice with as much concern as he could muster.

"When I was eight, my parents sat me down and proceeded to tell me that by the end of that year, I was going to be a big brother. I, of course, hated the idea. I got angry, resentful even. But, nevertheless, I ended up spending Christmas Eve in some noisy English hospital waiting for the smelly twerp to make her first appearance. It was dawn on Christmas morning before she finally decided to announce her presence, and she wasn't quiet about it, believe you me. In fact, she was never quite again. But I was wrong about her. No one could have asked for a better little sister. And she was smart. Very smart. She probably would have ended up smarter than me.

She was curious about everything. She always had to know what _this_ was and how _that_ worked. She would follow me everywhere. She thought I was _the smartest person in the whole wide world._ She would even cry when I went to school because she couldn't go with me. The kid had these big green eyes that made me feel so guilty, I would skip hanging out with my friends or playing sports so that I could get home as soon as possible." House paused his speech. He was becoming much more emotional than he thought he would, and he didn't like it one bit.

"My dad was a big sort of 'outdoorsman'. I guess that comes with being a military man. So, one day he decided to take Emma out for a hike in the woods. She loved it, of course. There were so many things to touch and explore. She died eight days later."

"What happened to her?" Wilson asked carefully, watching his friend with subtle anxiety. House took a deep breath but didn't look up.

"Started with a fever and a cough. Mom and dad assumed it was the flu; doctors agreed. They gave her a couple little pills and sent her on her way. A couple days later she was still getting sicker. Mom wanted to take her to the hospital, but dad just told her she was being ridiculous. Dad went out to do the grocery shopping the next day because mom refused to leave Emma's bedroom. The kid's temperature kept rising, and mom had had enough waiting. She just picked Emma up and practically ran for the door, calling for me to come as she went. When we got to the car, she handed Emma to me and drove like a street racer to the nearest hospital.

I remember how it felt to hold that little girl as she tossed and turned and cried and whimpered. And for the first time since she was born, I couldn't make it all better. She stopped breathing five minutes out. I don't think I've ever been so terrified in my entire life. I had no idea how to help her. All I could do was sit there and pray. They got her breathing again once we arrived, but that just ended up being a curse. She lay there suffering for three more days while her so-called 'doctors' debated what was wrong.

Mom and I never left the room. Not once. We just sat in those miserable excuses for chairs and held onto either of her hands. Dad was in and out of the room. He said he _couldn't bear to see his precious little girl in such pain. _Then the day before my birthday, she opened her eyes. It was only for a second, but those big, green, innocent eyes looked straight into mine, and she smiled…well, as much as she could with a tube down her throat." House paused, running a hand down his tired face and fiddling with his blanket because he no longer had his cane to play with.

"She slipped into a coma as soon as her eyes closed again. And I prayed so hard I was sure that every divine being in the cosmos could hear me over anyone else. But I was wrong, Wilson. No one was listening to me because there's no one up there to listen. No all-loving, all-powerful God would torture and kill the innocent like your so-called God does. She died the next day – the same hour I turned fourteen. During the autopsy, the medical examiner found a little black bug hiding in her curly blonde locks."

"It was a parasite," Wilson whispered to himself. House nodded wordlessly, lowering his head even more until his chin was touching his chest. A wave of understanding washed over the young oncologist, and he used one hand to remove his oxygen mask from his face while the other reached out toward his best friend of so many years. House saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively grasped the outstretched hand. When he looked up, Wilson saw the unshed tears swimming in the older man's eyes and was taken aback. The rush of foreign yet familiar feelings that surged through him was so strong that he couldn't hold back a small gasp. Hearing this, House let his mind focus completely on the scene in front of him and stood in a rush of panic.

"What do you think you're doing? Put that mask back on before you kill yourself! I just saved your ass once. I'm not sure if I have enough energy to do it again," he cleverly disguised his concern as anger.

"House," Wilson grabbed his wrists to stop his agitated movements.

"Let go, or I'll let you suffocate," House replied. Wilson clutched a handful of shirt in response and locked eyes with the man above him. House gave him a questioning look, clearly uncomfortable after having bared his soul.

"Come here," the younger man grinned, pulling his best friend down into a slow deep kiss. "I missed you," he whispered against his lips, kissing him harder. House smiled into it.

"I missed me too."

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Sorry for the long wait for this one. I went back and revised it I don't know how many times to try and get it right. I hope I succeeded! Keep those reviews coming! You're all so wonderful. Thank you to everyone! Next chapter: Wilson gets to go home. House shows him just how lonely he's been without him...


	16. Until Tonight

**Please note the big rating change to M for this chapter for sexual content! If this isn't your cup of tea, I suggest you read until they are in the bedroom (obviously) then skip to the very last line. Or request a chapter summary. Enjoy!**

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"Buenos días, mi amor. I bring tidings of pizza and caffeine!" House lifted said items high above his head triumphantly as he entered Wilson's hospital room two weeks, three days, twelve hours, seven minutes, and forty-nine seconds after he came to his senses. Wilson looked up and smiled as he set the pizza and coke on the younger man's food tray.

"You do realize it's nine thirty in the morning, right?"

"Of course. That's what the caffeine's for," House gave him a 'duh' look. Wilson rolled his eyes, but grabbed a slice of pizza anyway as House opened the box.

"So when are you finally gonna let me out of this cube of insanity?" Wilson questioned before taking a bite of extra cheesy goodness.

"Hey, I don't like you being here anymore than you do," House replied, his mouth already full of food. Wilson swallowed his before continuing.

"Well, you must. It's been over two weeks. I'm fine. In fact, I'd be a thousand times better if I could just go home," he complained.

"Oh, don't get all weepy. I'm discharging you this afternoon. You get out of your 'cube of insanity', and I get off work early. It's win – win," House announced jubilantly. Wilson would swear House was waiting until he'd taken the biggest bite of food possible to talk.

"Let me guess, Cuddy put you on clinic duty, and you decided that I'd make for a better patient then a whiny five year old with a stuffy nose," Wilson raised his eyebrows in anticipation of House's answer.

"Yep," House answered simply, taking a drink of his Coca-Cola.

"Hate to break it to ya, man, but I am a terrible patient. Remember the first you treated me, back in my intern days?" Wilson questioned, a smirk beginning to form on his sauce-stained lips.

"How could I forget?" House rolled his eyes with a smirk of his own. "I've never seen a whinier appendicitis patient in my entire career!"

"Hey, now, let's not get insulting!" Wilson defended.

"You were screaming like a little girl," House retorted.

"My appendix ruptured! You try having an organ explode inside of you and see how quiet you are about it!"

"Bet I'd be calmer than you," House responded childishly.

"Are we seriously having this argument?" Wilson raised only one eyebrow this time.

"_Are we seriously having this argument?_" House mocked him jokingly.

"House, quit that," Wilson complained. He hated this game. His brother always did this to him when they were kids. James could think of nothing more annoying.

"_House, quit that._"

"Stop acting like you're five!"

"_Stop acting like you're five!_"

"I mean it!"

"_I mean it!_"

"This is ridiculous," said a resigned Wilson.

"_So's your face!_" House mocked.

"That's it. No more 'Scrubs' for you," Wilson pointed a finger at House authoritatively as he spoke.

"You'd prefer I go naked in the operating room?" House questioned with fake density.

"You know what I mean," Wilson took another bite of pizza. House followed suit.

"Oh, by the way, mom found a new place, and guess who gets to help her move?" House said with fake excitement.

"Um, her newly pain-free and limber son?" Wilson replied.

"If by 'son' you mean you, than yes!" House smirked.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so. I'm still weak from the dialysis. You, on the other hand, have been running and exercising more than an Olympic gold medallist. She's all yours, killer," Wilson took a drink.

"I knew this no pain thing would come back to haunt me," House pouted. "Then again, maybe I'll invite the Scooby gang. I'm sure Cameron would just _love _to see me flexing my sexy guns." House flexed his right arm to exaggerate his point. Wilson gave a short laugh in response.

"You'd better watch out, stud. You don't wanna make the Australian angry. Those guys have deadly wild beasts on their side," he warned sardonically.

"Ooh, yes! How could I forget about those bloodthirsty kangaroos and man-eating koalas! How ever would I survive?" House asked in fake panic.

"You wouldn't. I hear those koalas'll take the skin right off you if you get too close," Wilson shrugged and took another bite of pizza.

"Damn it!" House cursed.

"Hey, you've still got Foreman," Wilson took a drink.

"Forget that. I can't let him know where my mother lives. She has a lot of nice jewelry," House said in a thoughtful voice.

"Are you seriously implying that after becoming a doctor and make hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, Foreman is still robbing people?" House raised his eyebrows in response. "I guess it makes sense. _Neurologist by day. Evil ninja super villain by night. He spends the midnight hours prowling the streets of New Jersey; robbing little old ladies of their bunion cream and denture glue!_"

"Now you're just being ridiculous," House shook his head condescendingly as he took another bite of pizza. Wilson picked up the pen the nurse had left on the nightstand and threw it at him; hitting him directly between the eyes. "You're gonna pay for that one," House warned.

"Yeah? And just how do you plan on making me?" Wilson challenged. House grinned the most seductive grin the oncologist had ever seen, and he suddenly noticed his hospital gown was becoming increasingly tight. His smirk never wavering, House stood from his seat and leaned over so that his lips were barely brushing Wilson's ear.

"Tonight I'll show you as soon as the front door closes," he whispered slowly. Wilson's eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of warm breath on his skin. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed that feeling. Pulling back slightly, House switched positions and brought his head over to where he could meet Wilson's' lips; kissing him slowly but deeply.

"Um, House, if I could borrow you for a second?" Wilson instinctively tried to pull away at the sound of Cuddy's voice, but House reached up with his right hand and held the younger man's head steadily in place. At the same time, he stretched his left arm out behind him and held up his pointer finger, giving her the 'one minute' sign. Cuddy let out and audible sigh but said nothing. Instead, she leaned against the doorway and averted her eyes; staring at the floor, the walls, the ceiling, her watch – just about anything but the two men in front of her. Once House was satisfied that he had pushed both Wilson and Cuddy's patience and dignity to the brink, he slowly released his best friend's mouth, keeping his bottom lip trapped between his for as long as possible before resuming his 'seductive whispering' position once more.

"Until tonight," he murmured cheesily with an even more malevolent smirk on his face. Wilson never opened his eyes. House then stood up straight and turned to face Cuddy, never losing his self-satisfied expression. "Now, was there something you needed?" Though she tried her damnedest not to, his boss couldn't help but smile.

"Need a consult," she answered vaguely.

"Duty calls," he grinned at Wilson, who had finally opened his eyes. Leaning down once more, he gave the younger man a quick kiss then turned to follow Cuddy out the door.

"This had better be good. I was getting my romance on back there!" House complained three minutes and fifty-two seconds after they'd left Wilson's room. Cuddy said nothing, but instead turned and handed him a single sheet of paper. "What's this?" he questioned, obviously confused.

"I had a few tests done yesterday. Just got the results this morning," she was having an extremely hard time keeping the smile off of her face.

"This is a pregnancy test," House told her needlessly, continuing to examine the neatly printed words on the document. "A positive pregnancy test. You're pregnant." The older doctor failed miserably in keeping the absolute shock off of his face.

"Congratulations, daddy. The artificial insemination worked," woman was practically beaming as she spoke. House thought her eyes might have been glistening and attempted to change the mood quickly.

"Oh, no no no. It's you who should be congratulated Dr. Cuddy. Just think, in eight and a half months, you're going to have a mini _me_ to terrorize you at home as well as a normal sized me to do so at work. You'll be institutionalized by the third year, tops," he smirked deviously. Cuddy's face fell.

"Oh, dear God, please let it be a girl!" she prayed under her breath.

"Won't make a difference," House shrugged. "I can corrupt a girl's mind just as easily as a boy's. Actually, you're probably making it easier. Little girls are always more attached to their fathers than boys. It's a scientific fact."

"You just had to ruin this for me, didn't you?" Cuddy glared.

"Would I be me if I hadn't?" House answered. Cuddy gave a small grin to show that there were no hard feelings, but she still had an overwhelming urge to get him back for ruining her mood.

"You're right, House. But what's that? I think that's the sound of snotty nosed clinic kids calling for their favorite cantankerous physician!" she exclaimed as dryly sarcastic as possible. "You'd better hurry before their overbearing mother's suffocate them with affection and concern!"

"No way! I'm not scheduled for clinic duty until noon!" House argued.

"Well, seeing how I run this hospital and, therefore can schedule everyone's clinic hours to my liking, get your ass down there and work, or I call your mom and she'll get to take Wilson home while you work in the clinic for the rest of the day," she grinned even more deviously than he had just moments before.

"Fine. You may have won this round, but I'll be back, mysterious stranger. And when I return, I shall make sure that your death is prolonged and painful," he squinted his eyes in a ridiculous emphasis.

"Goodbye, House," Cuddy's voice urged him through the door.

"See if I ever loan _you _my sperm again," he murmured under his breath as the door closed behind him. Cuddy simply smirked and got back to her work.

"Home sweet couch!" Wilson sighed almost orgasmically as he flopped carelessly onto their living room couch six hours, twelve minutes, and thirty-two seconds after House had left his hospital room.

"Don't get too comfortable. I haven't had a decent meal in weeks. You owe me," House commented as he tossed both of their jackets into the hall closet.

"Even if I actually felt like doing anything but lounge right here, what exactly would you expect me to cook with? I've been incapacitated for the past three weeks, and you haven't been away from the hospital in that time long enough to do anything but buy junk food from the shopping center around the corner."

"Ah, but you underestimate the power of my mother's crazy," House raised his eyebrows. "She stocked these shelves with enough food to feed a small country. Now get to work. I'm thinking something of the Mexican variety."

"Fine, but I get to pick the movie," Wilson reluctantly agreed, rising wearily from his comfy seat and heading purposefully toward the kitchen.

"But you always get to pick the movie!" House whined childishly.

"Ha!" Wilson laughed. "When was the last time you even let me touch the remote?"

"See, now that isn't fair. How am I suppose to argue when you go and get all technical like that?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way. You always do," Wilson grinned. Although Wilson didn't see it, House grinned back.

"Remind me again why we're eating on the bed?" Wilson said in an exasperated voice as House returned with seconds one hour, seventeen minutes, and thirty-four seconds later.

"The TV's bigger and the seating's more comfortable. What more could you ask for?" House replied in a 'duh' tone of voice.

"How about not having crumbs all over where I sleep," Wilson suggested.

"How about moving in with my mother? Then you'll never have to worry about that again," House responded dryly.

"I thought your mom was moving out tomorrow."

"Nah. She decided to go ahead and move today. Lucky for you."

"And you actually helped her?" Wilson was impressed.

"Nope. Hired professionals to do it for me." Wilson was no longer impressed. They sat in silence for eighteen more seconds before Wilson suddenly smirked widely and turned to face House.

"You know, if I moved in with your mom, that'd make me your daddy." House turned to face him in kind, intending to scowl but ending up erupting with laughter. Wilson immediately joined him.

When the laughter ended, their eyes locked, and both men found it impossible to look away. Leaning in slowly, House touched their lips together lightly, relishing in the feeling it sparked inside him. Wilson responded ever so slightly, obviously enjoying the feather light contact. House grinned and slid his left hand slowly up Wilson's chest, then to the back of his neck, and finally ending up tangled in Wilson's thick, dark hair. He then placed his right hand on Wilson's leg, just below his thigh, and guided it slowly upward, feeling Wilson twitch as he passed his crotch, and let his hand slide underneath the younger doctor's shirt. The kiss barely broke as he swiftly lifted James' shirt up and over his head while James returned the favor in kind. Once they were both shirtless, House pulled away slowly, catching Wilson's bottom lip between his as he did and letting it slide languidly from his mouth. Leaning back slightly, House took in his soon-to-be-lover's appearance and smiled. Wilson's face was blushed from the heat of their bodily contact and a bit of stubble burn. He kept his eyes closed still as if opening them would break whatever spell they seemed to be under, his lips were moist and swollen, and his hair was mussed beyond recognition. Thinking back, House could not recall another time he'd seen James Wilson lose control so completely, and knowing he had done that to him made it that much sweeter.

But when his gaze traveled below the younger man's head and neck, House's heart sank. That nasty little parasite's disease had certainly done a number on his friend. He'd lost a lot of weight – a good ten or fifteen pounds from what House could see. He was much too thin now. His body was still recovering from a huge shock. Near death can cause all kinds of unsightly side effects. House knew this from experience. Letting his eyes continue downward, he spotted the faint line of the old appendectomy scar and raised his right hand to trace it lightly.

"I missed you," he whispered softly, leaning back in to capture Wilson's mouth passionately; letting the kiss say what he could not. He knew it was a cliché, but he had to go with what worked. And judging by Wilson's reaction, it had worked very well. Before they knew it, pants were flying through the air, and boxers were lost somewhere within the sheets. Then all that was left was each other, and God did it feel good. Why had they waited so long for this?

"Ready to make good on your promise?" James questioned between kisses, sliding his left hand down to grip House's waist. House simply nodded in response, remembering their conversation that morning, and turned his attention to the younger man's neck. Wilson threw his head back instinctively, allowing an involuntary moan of pleasure to escape his lips as the hand on House's waist tightened its grip spasmodically. Both men were, of course, completely erect by now, and with one short thrust House brought their throbbing cocks together, biting down on Wilson's shoulder as the pressure in his penis increased tenfold at the simple touch. They both were moaning, unashamedly, then; rocking back and forth against each other, in a slow and steady rhythm.

"House, please," Wilson begged with a rumble in his voice that House had never heard before. "I want you. Uh, God! I want you inside me now."

House was happy to oblige. Wordlessly, he wrapped the younger man's legs around his waist. Trailing a line of lustful kisses down his sternum as they continued to rock in time. Wilson reached up eagerly to grab his shoulders, perfectly trimmed fingernails digging into the diagnostician's scapulas. Moving swiftly, House managed to pull one arm away to reach into the top drawer of his nightstand. Feeling around blindly, he almost sighed in relief when his hand came in contact with the small plastic tube he'd placed their that morning. Reluctantly pulling his other hand away, House squeezed some out into his hand and applied it quickly, literally aching with anticipation. Shuddering with ecstasy, House brought both of his hands down to grip the younger man's hips and roughly held him in place, looking James straight in the eyes to confirm that he was ready. Seeing the answering he was looking for deep in the depths of Wilson's vast eyes, now turned black with by euphoria, Greg pushed inside of him. Capturing James' mouth in a bruising kiss, Greg bit down hard on the young man's bottom lip to help distract him from the pain. Despite his efforts, Wilson still let out a shocked cry, but House quickly swallowed it for him, turning it into a groan of unimaginable pleasure as he began to move. It was slow going at first as he gave his friend the chance to stretch out and get use to the foreign feeling of another human being inside of him. As the man gave his nonverbal consent for continuation, House let James set the pace, not wanting to hurt him.

The oncologist kept their pace slow for a while until House's cock found just the right spot. Wilson's entire body shuddered at the phenomenal new feeling, and the pace swiftly sped up. Panting harshly, the two men rocked roughly back and fourth, making noises in their throats that neither of them ever knew they could make. James could instinctively feel House was getting close, and the feeling overwhelmed him completely. He could feel his own cock beginning to leek pre-come as a small warning, so he wrapped his legs tighter around the other man's waist, crossing them behind his back, tore his left hand away from House's shoulder and wrapped it around his own penis. Holding tightly, he let his hand match the rhythm of their bodies and thought he might die from the anticipation.

House threw his head back and yelled something inaudible as he finally came, and that was enough for Wilson. The sound of Greg's exhilarated screams combined with the feeling of his warmth spreading inside of him, James came with a cry of his own just as House collapsed on top of him. Wilson wrapped his arms around him as they both they still, panting like out of shape race dogs. House returned the favor, rolling over so that the so recently sick man was lying on top of him, and sighed contently. He could definitely get use to this feeling – a feeling that only a couple weeks ago he was certain he would never get the chance to feel. He took the silence that had overcome them as an opportunity to memorize every detail – every touch, every sight, every taste, every scent, every sound. He committed it all to memory as if he had found the cure for cancer. House never wanted to forget how he felt at that moment. It was that feeling he'd been longing for all his life. It was a feeling of belonging. And he would allow nothing, NOTHING, to spoil that moment for him.

"Cuddy's having my baby." Damn it.

* * *

House, no! What were you thinking? Ruin the moment much? Hey, guys, don't blame me. Like I could ever tell House what to do!  
Next chapter: Cuddy's doing _what_? And Wilson discovers that his troubles aren't over yet...not by a long shot! 


	17. Why Me?

Wilson waited seven seconds before letting out a heavy sigh and buried the side of his face a little deeper into House's chest.

"I know," he said calmly, wishing that House didn't feel the need to ruin every moment with some wildly inappropriate comment.

"You know?" House questioned, very surprised.

"Mmm hmm," Wilson nodded lazily. "Cuddy told me earlier today. She said she knew you'd do something like this and wanted to warn me. Boy did she get a shock when she found out that I didn't even know you'd volunteered."

"Wait a second, Cuddy told you that she figured I'd tell you about this right after having screwed you into oblivion and left you lying naked and thoroughly sated on top of me?" House tried humor. Wilson usually fell for that.

"House," Wilson spoke his name in a long, drawn out warning. "You're killing the happy."

"I don't know. I think that's a very happy picture."

"Not the thought of Cuddy imagining it."

"That's the part I was talking about!" Wilson let out another heavy sigh at this statement, and House decided there was no avoiding this anymore.

"The reason I didn't tell you wasn't that I didn't want you to know," he said quietly, wanting to get this over with. "You were sick the day it happened. You didn't need the stress. Then you just kept getting sicker. And once you were well, you still needed time to recover. Stress doesn't do much for that either. There just was never a good time to bring it up."

"Oh, but right after a long round of mind-blowing man sex is a perfect time?" Wilson asked rhetorically.

"I'll admit I probably don't have the best timing in the world, but you're too tired to really annoy me about it. So, I'd call this one a win," House smirked involuntary when he felt Wilson's mouth curl into a grin.

"All right, you've got me there. Can we sleep now?" Wilson questioned groggily. House let out a short laugh.

"Good idea," he responded, planting a kiss on top of the younger man's head before he could think about it. "You're really okay with this?"

"I told you a long time ago I was. Sleep now. We'll worry later," Wilson sighed contently against him, and they both quickly fell into a deep sleep.

"Shit!" Wilson hissed loudly as he fell forward, catching himself on the counter behind the diagnostics conference table.

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked quickly, looking as if she were about to rise from her seat. Wilson put a hand up to still her.

"I'm fine. I just…tripped," he answered unconvincingly.

"Over what?" Chase questioned, glancing over the floor around Wilson.

"My own two feet?"

"You've been doing that a lot lately," House pointed out with a suspicious air to his voice.

"I've just been a little off since I was sick. It's no big deal," Wilson replied, standing upright again. At least he hoped so. It'd been three weeks, six days, twenty hours, seven minutes, and forty-five seconds since he'd been released from the hospital's care. Since then, he'd felt fine, but he'd been feeling strange for the past couple of days. He'd become rather clumsy, dropping things left and right and tripping over air. It wasn't like him, and it made him nervous.

"Wilson, you look like death warmed over. You'd better not be getting sick again. I can only take so much before I just kill you myself," House told him dryly.

"Thank you, my love," Wilson responded, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Any time, my darling," House fired back, batting his eyes.

"That just might be the creepiest thing I've ever seen you do," the oncologist crossed his arms with a grin. House snorted.

" Yeah, that's what you said this morning in the shower."

"No! No! Stop! Just stop that train off thought!" Chase suddenly yelled to everyone's surprise.

"You can't just stop a train. They take over a mile to stop. We can slow the train down, but stopping…" House let the sentence hang, too busy enjoying the twitchy reaction he knew such comments always gave Chase.

"So run it into the wall!" the Aussie suggested. "I'm really getting tired of all these comments about your love life."

"Why is that, Chase? Guy love make you uncomfortable?" House smirked. Chase closed his eyes, most likely counting to ten in his head.

"So, Chase, is there any group of people you do like?" Foreman questioned with an eyebrow raised. "You don't like fat people, you don't like gay people…"

"I never said that!" Chase defended himself.

"You don't have to say it," Foreman continued. "Trust me, your actions are more than enough."

"So, just because I don't enjoy hearing the details of House's sex life, I'm homophobic? Where's the logic in that?" Chase argued.

"All right, children, that's enough fighting," House interrupted, bored of this already. "Mommy and daddy have to go out for a little while, but we'll be back before you know it. Now, your sister is in charge while we're gone because we know that annoys you. Be good, and find me a case." House grabbed Wilson's wrist as he spoke and led him out the door.

"Where are we going?" Wilson asked as House continued to pull him toward destinations unknown.

"Cuddy's having her first ultrasound today. She asked me if we'd come," House responded as they reached the elevators.

"And you said yes?" questioned the surprised Wilson.

"Of course I said yes. It is my kid after all," House rolled his eyes.

"I thought you said this was Cuddy's kid? That you were just a sperm donor? What changed your mind?"

"Cuddy," House answered vaguely as he pressed the button for the ground floor.

"Really? What'd she say?" Wilson continued.

"She invited me to the ultrasound," House answered simply, and the elevator doors closed.

"Hey! Starting the party without us?" House practically shouted as they entered the exam room. Cuddy lay on the table with her shirt pulled up over her stomach as Dr. Isaac spread the warm gel over said part of her body.

"House, my appointment was half an hour ago. I wasn't going to wait all day," Cuddy responded, sounding slightly irritated. But Wilson knew it was just an act.

"I like to make an entrance," House shrugged, helping himself to the only chair in the room and planting himself directly in front of the screen.

"House!" Cuddy scolded. "Your big, balding head is blocking my view!"

"I like a front row seat," he defended.

"Today you ride in the back. Now move over," the woman demanded. Dr. Isaac shook his head but said nothing. He'd been working at this hospital for nine years. He knew how House could be.

"Okay, Lisa, if you'll look right here toward the middle of the screen, that peanut-shaped thing, that's your baby," Dr. Isaac explained. He knew it probably wasn't necessary, but it was how he was use to doing things. And figured it had probably been a while since Dr. Cuddy had read an ultrasound. "We're not detecting a heartbeat just yet, but that's nothing to worry about. Six weeks is just the starting point for the circulatory system's development. I'd like to schedule you for a transvaginal ultrasound within the next week, though. Just to rule out any complications."

"That's fine. I'll be here whenever you need me," Cuddy grinned. The lack of a heartbeat was really worrying her, but she forced her fears to the back of her mind and focused her attention on the picture on the monitor. Then looking to her left, she watched the faces and House and Wilson as they watched the monitor, and she smiled. They were mesmerized, for lack of a better word. Wilson was grinning like a madman, and House…House was…transfixed. There was a look in his eyes that she had never seen before, and she couldn't help but wonder exactly what it meant.

"House, do you think maybe I could have the chair now?" Wilson's voice threw Cuddy out of her reverie. Looking up at him, she could see that the goofy grin had been completely erased from his profile. He looked pale and tired, and, for a moment, she wondered if he might throw up. House looked up at him too and immediately rose from his seat. Five weeks ago, she would have thought this was an unusual action from the diagnostician, but, ever since Wilson had recovered, House had been acting differently toward his only friend. He'd been jumpy and extra cautious, and he always watched the other man carefully when he thought no one was looking.

"What's the matter?" House asked, trying in vain to mask the concern in his voice as he helped Wilson sit.

"My feet feel weird," Wilson answered vaguely.

"Weird how?" the diagnostician questioned while untying the oncologist's shoes laces.

"Pins and needles. Like they're going to sleep," Wilson let out a sharp hiss. Cuddy cringed. She knew how uncomfortable that feeling could be. The only question was, why was Wilson feeling it?

"Are they going numb?" House asked as he pulled off Wilson's fancy French shoes. Wilson shook his head.

"I don't think so. I can still feel your hands." Dr. Isaac handed Cuddy a towel as House continued his examination.

"How did this start? Were you standing awkwardly?" she questioned as she pulled her shirt down and sat up.

"No. I was just – AH!" Wilson's response was cut short as he screamed, almost knocking House to the ground as he grabbed for his feet.

"What is it? What's wrong?" House asked loudly, a look of half-panic in his eyes.

"Ah, it hurts!" was all Wilson could muster as he dug his fingers into his feet.

"Wilson, you need to tell us how it hurts," Cuddy said slowly, kneeling down next to him. "What does it feel like?"

"My m-muscles are cramping," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"Should I call someone?" Dr. Isaac questioned, feeling extremely useless.

"Could you get us a wheelchair, please?" Cuddy requested. Isaac nodded and made a hasty retreat. Cuddy watched him leave then turned back to Wilson. House had gotten him to release his left foot, and the older doctor had begun massaging it roughly, attempting to force the straining muscles to relax. Wilson had his other foot gripped tightly in both of his hands, pushing so hard on the muscles that his fingers were turning white. Cuddy placed a reassuring hand on his forearm and wondered what Wilson could have possibly done to deserve this.

* * *

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! They are food for my muse, and I greatly appreciate them. I know I say it every chapter, but it never stops being true. Sorry for the long wait. I had a huge research assignment due, but it's done now and I'm back to my beautiful H/W world! 


	18. You're Gonna Put That Where?

"You've got a case," House announced as he entered the diagnostics conference room two hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifty-nine seconds after Cuddy's rather short ultrasound. He dropped two files on the table between Chase and Cameron then tossed the third one to Foreman, who caught it reflexively.

"You're in charge," he informed the neurologist before turning on his heels and walking back out of the door.

"That's it?" Foreman called after him, but House just kept walking.

"What was that all about?" Chase asked, thoroughly confused.

"Oh, no," Cameron said as her eyes scanned the file.

"What?" Chase questioned as she rose from her seat quickly and all but ran for the door. "What?" he called again, but she was already gone.

"House!" Cameron yelled as she spotted her boss in front of the elevators with his finger on the down button.

"See by throwing the files at you, saying as little as possible, then leaving again at an extremely rapid pace, I thought you might get the hint that I'm not in the mood for chit-chat," House replied as she came to a stop by his right side.

"What happened?" she ignored him.

"See that cute little folder you've got there? Everything you need to know is in it," House answered, obviously irritated, and pressed the down arrow again.

"But I don't understand. It's been over a month since his HGA. He hasn't shown any signs of complications. Why would he suddenly be deteriorating?" the young woman continued.

"Well, seeing how he's displaying completely different symptoms this time, I'm gonna guess that the two aren't directly related," House pressed the button several times in succession.

"But they could be. Delayed symptoms aren't unheard of –"

"Why are you telling me this?" House cut her off, his patience now nearly nonexistent. "I already know all of this. The people you should be talking to are your team. That's generally what a team does – work together, share information in order to reach a common goal. And since I'm not on your team for this particular case, you, therefore, have no reason to be out here spouting off useless information to me." A bell dinged and the elevator doors finally opened. House stepped in quickly and looked back at Cameron. "Now get back there and do your job," he instructed as he picked his floor and the doors began to close once more.

"But –" Cameron tried to say, but she was too late. Letting out an angry growl, she turned and headed back to the conference room.

"Did you catch him?" Foreman questioned as she re-entered the room.

"Yeah," she answered shortly, obviously annoyed, as she made her way back to her chair.

"He's not helping us this time?" Chase asked as she sat next to him.

"Nope," she replied in the same irked tone.

"Why?" Foreman inquired. Wasn't he supposed to be teaching them?

"Because he's House, and he likes to mess with us," Chase offered.

"Did you guys even read the file? It's Wilson again," Cameron said.

"So what? Last time this happened he fought us tooth and nail for the case," Foreman pointed out.

"Last time he almost had a mental breakdown," Cameron argued.

"Doesn't matte. Fifty bucks says he can't stay away," Chase chimed in.

"I'll take that bet," Cameron agreed.

"All right, you're on," Chase grinned and shook her hand. Foreman rolled his eyes and picked up the black marker.

"Let's just get started. House'll kill us if we screw this up. Differential diagnosis?"

Eleven hours, seventeen minutes, and forty-three seconds later, Cuddy stood outside Wilson's hospital room, watching House as he sat, hunched over, in the unbelievably uncomfortable visitor's chair, staring off into nothing.

"Hey," she said quietly, gaining his attention. He looked up at her slowly but said nothing. "How's he doing?" she questioned as she stepped into the room, coming to a stop beside him.

"He's in and out of it. We I gave him cyclobenzaprine, and it's pretty much wiped him out." House replied.

"I can see that," Cuddy responded, looking over at the sleeping man on the bed. "How much did you give him?"

"Enough," House answered vaguely. Cuddy glanced at him skeptically. "He was in a lot of pain." Cuddy nodded her head in understanding.

"Who'd you assign the case to?"

"Foreman, officially," House answered, resting his chin on top of his fist.

"And you're not going up there to help?"

"If I do, I'll never come back," House told her, surprised at his own admission.

"Did you call your mother?" Cuddy could tell he had not meant to say as much as he had, so she changed the subject quickly.

"No. She doesn't need the stress again," House explained.

"She's going to find out sooner or later," Cuddy pointed out.

"Later would be preferable," House warned, dashing any thoughts Cuddy may have been having about calling her for him. She nodded her head in acceptance.

"What about _his _parents?" she asked instead. "Planning on calling them this time?"

"I'm surprised you didn't – this time or the last," House replied.

"I did. They haven't answered," Cuddy told him.

"That's because they took a cruise to Jamaica," House informed her.

"They've been on a cruise for a month?" she questioned skeptically.

"No, they've been in Jamaica for a month. They were on a cruise on the way there," he corrected her.

"Why so long?" Cuddy asked curiously.

"They're old, retired, and Jewish. Do they need a better reason?" House answered. Cuddy gave him a look but said nothing to contradict him.

"Do you have any idea why this is happening to him?" she decided to inquire instead. However, before House could respond, Wilson made a small noise from the bed, and his eyes began to blink open. House reacted immediately, pushing himself up and standing next to the bed.

"House?" Wilson questioned, groggy from the drugs.

"The one and only," the older doctor replied, grinning. "How are you feeling?"

"Different," Wilson responded vaguely.

"Okay…is different good or bad?" House urged him to continue.

"Well, I'm not in agony, so I guess that's good," Wilson attempted a grin. House gave him one back.

"Good. I wanna check your reflexes. Do you think you can sit up if Cuddy helps you?" Wilson nodded the affirmative. Cuddy gave House a curious look but said nothing. Both House and Cuddy reached out to ease him into a sitting position, not wanting to set off anymore muscle spasms. Wilson was trembling with the effort, but he couldn't seem to get his legs to do what he wanted.

"Wilson?" House questioned, carefully as he felt the man shaking under his hands.

"My feet. I can't move them," he answered fearfully. "My legs aren't doing much better."

"Can you feel this?" Cuddy asked, letting House hold Wilson up for a moment as she took his left foot in her hands. James nodded. "But you can't move it at all." His head shook this time. Cuddy raised her eyes to meet House's. This was definitely not good.

Three days, seven hours, forty-three minutes, and seventeen seconds later, Cuddy stood by Wilson's beside yet again.

"What's the word?" she asked the older man sitting next to her. House was in the same position he'd been in every time Cuddy came for a visit. He never left the room even once. The Dean of Medicine had taken it upon herself to see that he was taken care of; bringing him clothes, food, toys, and anything else she saw fit to deliver. She knew his detachment from the diagnostics part of this case was his way of avoiding the reaction he'd had last time, but she also knew that it wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. So she'd come to offer him a temporary distraction.

"He's lost movement completely from his waist and below," House said quietly, sounding very tired. "If the ducklings don't figure it out soon, we'll have to bring in a respirator."

"What about you? Any ideas?" Cuddy questioned.

"Lots and lots of ideas," House confirmed. "Too many." Cuddy sighed and bowed her head for a second.

"I have to go see Dr. Isaac in a few minutes for my transvaginal ultrasound. I was wondering if you'd come with me," she said quickly, now feeling very awkward for asking.

"You want me to leave him now?"

"It'll only be for a few minutes," Cuddy explained. "It'll give you a nice break, and I'd really appreciate you being there. We're suppose to hear the baby's heart for the first time." House looked up at her and seemed to contemplate the situation for a moment. He then turned back to Wilson and laid a hand on top of the younger man's.

"Okay," he agreed quietly. Cuddy did a double take, surprised at his acceptance.

"All right, let's get going now. With the amount of medication in Wilson's system, he'll still be out when you come back." House nodded in agreement, and slowly rose from his chair.

"Hello, Dr. Cuddy – Dr. House," Dr. Isaac greeted as he entered the exam room twenty-four minutes, and thirteen seconds after they'd left Wilson's room. "Sorry to keep you waiting. A patient of mine went into pre-mature labor with triplets yesterday, and she decided to deliver not long ago."

"That's okay, Dr. Isaac. Are she and the babies all right?" Cuddy responded courteously.

"Oh, yes. The mother's pretty exhausted, of course, but the babies are doing fine. Two boys and a girl," Dr. Isaac smiled. "She was very lucky. Now, are you ready?"

"Can't wait," Cuddy grinned nervously. Isaac grinned back reassuringly.

"Okay, I'm going to place a blanket over your lower half, and than I want you to remove your pants and underwear," he instructed. Cuddy nodded her understanding as the blanket was laid over her. Dr. Isaac prepared the transducer as she removed the bottom half of her clothing.

"Okay, now I you'll just put your feet up in the stirrups here, we'll get started," Isaac explained. As she did as she was told, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, House slowly moving closer as if attempting to peer around the blanket. Cuddy stuck a hand out to clothesline his chest before he got too far.

"Not in this lifetime," she said in an annoyed tone, but she smiled at him. He was still the same old House.

"You may feel some mild discomfort as the transducer enters the vagina," Dr. Isaac warned. Cuddy nodded.

"Puh. If she had a nickel for every time she heard that…" House joked. Cuddy smacked his arm, but her smile never wavered.

Cuddy gave a small wince as Isaac inserted the transducer, but relaxed immediately as she glanced up at the monitor next to her. Looking over at Dr. Isaac, Cuddy noticed he seemed to be concentrating very hard on something. A small pinch of worry entered her mind, but she let it rest for now. Aren't doctors supposed to concentrate on their work?

"All right, Lisa, would you like to listen to your baby's heartbeat?" he finally asked after several minutes. She nodded eagerly, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. Isaac fiddled with the machine for a moment, and then it was there. Surrounding them, filling the entire room, was the rapid, peaceful rhythm of her unborn child's heartbeat. A smile crept over her face, bigger than she had managed in a very long time. Looking over at her oldest friend, the smile grew even more. House had closed his eyes, concentrating solely on the music surrounding them. He had a familiar look on his face. Lisa recognized it as the one he made as he played a particularly beautiful piece of piano music. Suddenly, she felt Dr. Isaac shift the transducer slightly, and a whole new beat began to play, mixing flawlessly with the first; beating on every offbeat. This drew Cuddy's attention away immediately.

"Dr. Isaac, is that –"

"Congratulations, Lisa. It looks like multiples are a theme today. You have two very healthy babies in there," the ob-gyn smiled. Cuddy instantly looked over to gage House's reaction. However, House was still sitting motionless in his chair, his eyes closed, still listening intently to the unchanging rhythm of their children's hearts.

* * *

Hello all you beautiful people! That's all for chapter 18. Hopefully, chapter 19 will be along very shortly. I don't have much else going on for the next week unless the pit orchestra for the musical I'm playing in decides to have some last minute rehearsals. (crosses fingers that that doesn't happen) Thanks for all the helpful reviews I appreciate them all very much! 


	19. Being Queer I Guess

"Where's House?" Chase asked as he, Cameron, and Foreman entered the hospital room in which Wilson was sleeping twenty-seven minute and fifty-four seconds after House and Cuddy had left.

"With Cuddy at her ultrasound," Cameron replied, setting the equipment she was holding on a sterile tray next to Wilson's bed.

"Cuddy's pregnant?" Foreman questioned, doing the same.

"Yep. It's the talk of the hospital," Cameron confirmed. "I thought everyone knew. It's Princeton's biggest scandal since House and Wilson got together…officially."

"Did any of the rumor spreading nurses happen to mention who the father is?" Foreman continued.

"Why guilty conscious? Or are you jealous? Chase asked jokingly.

"I'm curious," Foreman replied defensively.

"They don't know for sure, but they've got quite a pool going," Cameron explained.

"Whose in the lead?" Chase questioned.

"Wilson's got the most votes. House is in second."

"Of course," Chase rolled his eyes.

"Why do you say that?" Cameron wondered aloud.

"Think about it. If you wanted to have a baby with no commitment required, who would be the first person you'd ask?" Chase dramatically indicated Wilson with his arms. "Your gay best friends!"

"The assumption that there would be no strings attached because they're gay is extremely faulty logic," Cameron replied. "Being gay does not hinder their ability to love a child that they fathered."

"All right, I'll give you that, _and _I'll put fifty dollars on House as the father," Chase smirked.

"What? Why?" asked the now confused Cameron. Chase put up one finger before answering.

"Gay best friend," he began, then raised his second finger as well. "Hates kids."

"More like hates everyone," Cameron argued.

"This conversation is getting way too weird for me," Foreman interrupted. "Can we just get this done so we can start as soon as House gets back?" Chase and Cameron said nothing but continued preparing their equipment. "Thank you."

Meanwhile, House was in the best mood he'd been in for weeks. He was practically skipping down the hallway, humming a tune he couldn't name. It was catchy though, so he didn't mind. He'd have to look up the name of the song later. When Wilson was better.

"So I hear Dr. Fairy's back as a patient again," House heard a masculine voice say from the room he was walking past.

"Yep. I guess he should have stuck with the ladies. This homo thing isn't working out too well for him," it was a woman's voice this time. House stopped to listen, peering around the doorway to see two nurses inside arranging a bed for an incoming patient. Cringing, House immediately recognized the woman as the clumsy nurse from the hallway who'd nearly run him down all those weeks ago.

"You don't have to tell me. How many times is the guy gonna have to go to the brink of death before he figures out how unnatural and disgusting he is. I mean, doesn't he realize God's trying to tell him something?" the male nurse asked. The woman gave a short laugh.

"I doubt it. Super Gimp probably brainwashed him or something. Everyone knows what a bastard that man can be." It was the man's turn to laugh now.

"Yeah, I almost feel sorry for the faggot. But he had it coming. Messing around with another man? I tell ya, Lucy, things like that should be illegal." House could feel the anger rising in his stomach, but he held still. This conversation was too interesting to interrupt just yet.

"I hear ya, Joe. It gives me the creeps every time I see one or the other of them – especially if they're together. I can't stop thinking about all the sick things they must do to each other. It's enough to make a person want to vomit." The man House had cleverly deduced was called Joe laughed again. House's anger level rose another notch.

"I know. Can you imagine what their parents think? How embarrassing for them!" Clumsy snickered at that as they finished their work.

"Come on. It's feeding time for House's pet," she smirked and headed toward the door.

"Yeah. Maybe if we're lucky the queer will leave through the back door instead of the front this time," Joe laughed at his own wit as he turned to join her. He was closer, so he beat her to the door. But as Nurse Joe stepped out of the room, he suddenly felt his jaw come into contact with something hard and full of kinetic energy. Nurse Clumsy let out a yelp as Joe hit the floor, clutching his hands to his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" she yelled, kneeling to check on her friend.

"Being queer I guess," House shrugged, doing his best to mask the pain in his now throbbing right hand.

"Jesus, House! Are you insane?" Joe shouted, spitting a decent amount of blood onto the floor.

"You have to ask?" House asked sarcastically. Joe and Lucy simply stared at him angrily. "Hey, give me a break. I've come down with a serious bout of homosexuality. Don't get too close! You don't want to catch it!"

"You're a sick bastard, House!" Lucy spat. House snapped. Had this been what Wilson was talking about before? Had the oncologist been hearing such conversations from the beginning? Was that why he was so preoccupied and worried all the time? Bending over as Joe began to get to his feet, House grabbed the younger man's shirt color, pulled him to his feet, and slammed him against the wall.

"Now you listen to me! You can say anything you please about me. You can hang up a poster and throw darts at it for all I care! But you may not, under any circumstance, utter one more negative word about James Wilson!" House gave the man a little shake every now and then as he spoke, effectively keeping his undivided attention. "He is more of a man than you will ever be! And a better one too! Now I can't think of anything more despicable than a person like you who sneaks around behind people's backs, cursing them and wishing them dead! And you say we're the evil, disgusting ones! Try looking at yourself in the mirror once in a while! That is, unless you're too afraid of what you're going to see."

"House, let him go!" Nurse Clumsy yelled in his ear, pulling on his right arm. House ignored her. He wasn't finished yet.

"Now you can go and tell all your little Neanderthal-brained buddies to lay off, or so help me I will hurt you all so bad you'll curse your mother for ever being whore enough to conceive you!" House gave Joe one final slam into the wall before letting him go, backing away with a wild look in his eyes. Joe and Lucy watched him wearily as they slowly began to move away, unsure whether the doctor was finished.

"Go on! Get out of my sight!" he shouted, moving toward them as if to hit one of them again. Lucy let out a small yelp and she and Joe took off down the hallway.

Coming back to his senses, House noticed the crowd that had gathered around the scene for the first time. Staff and patients alike were staring at him through disapproving eyes. Some of them were muttering aversely and shaking their heads. Others were watching him with wide eyes full of a mixture of fear and disgust. It was too much right now. He couldn't handle this. Poor Jimmy. This had been what he was talking about – what House had dismissed as the younger man's paranoia. Wilson was too polite to say anything. He would have let them do or say anything as long as it kept things civil. And House had ignored him when the man had come to him for help. That was it, he needed to get back to Wilson's room. He'd been gone long enough. Jimmy needed him now.

"Haven't started all the fun without me, have you?" House announced, acting like his same old self, four minutes and thirty-seven seconds after his violent encounter in the hallway.

"We were just going to wake Wilson up. We need his consent to do an LP," Cameron explained.

"Still thinking autoimmune?" House questioned, stepping further into the room. Chase and Foreman exchanged a look.

"Right now, it makes the most sense," Cameron continued, oblivious to her colleagues' reactions.

"I agree. Wake him up. He'll consent," House told her, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.

"Dr. Wilson?" Cameron whispered, gently shaking the sleeping man's shoulder. Wilson didn't budge. House rolled his eyes.

"Wilson!" he shouted, startling the three other doctors. Wilson's eyes shot open immediately. "You see? That's how you do it." The ducklings each gave House their own scathing look.

"God, House, do you always have to be so loud?" Wilson asked, sounding pitiful.

"Would I be me if I weren't?" House smirked. Wilson grinned back slightly.

"Dr. Wilson, we need for you to content to an LP. We want to do a protein CSF test," Cameron interrupted. Wilson groaned.

"Fine, but can it wait until I go back to sleep?" Wilson questioned, only half joking.

"Sorry. No," Cameron grinned. Chase held out the papers and a pen, and Wilson signed with a shaky hand.

"Okay, let's get you on your side," Cameron spoke in her "dealing with patients" voice. With a lot help from her and House, Wilson managed to get on his right side. Chase did the honors of unhooking the back of his gown so as not to embarrass either him or Cameron. "Now, I know you know the drill, so let's get your legs up toward your chest as far as they can go."

Cameron tried to reach down and pull his legs up, but House grabbed her wrist. Looking up at him, he shook his head and she stepped back. Pulling his chair over a bit, House grabbed Wilson's legs as gently as possible, bent the sick man's knees, and pulled them slowly up toward his chest. Looking over, he saw Wilson's eyes focused on his face. Not knowing what else to do, House gave him a small smile. Wilson grinned back nervously. He was not looking forward to this.

"Okay, put your chin down toward your chest," House told him. Wilson complied, but House could feel him shaking slightly. He was scared. Of course he was scared! They'd just done this! All these painful, grueling tests had already been done to him at least once before, not even a month ago. He knew what he had to look forward too. Tentatively, House brought up his free hand and placed it on top of Wilson's head after making sure the ducklings were too busy to notice. He watched as Wilson closed his eyes at the contact then bowed his own head.

"All right, Dr. Wilson, this is going to be a little cold," Chase said as he prepared to sanitize the area in around the third and forth lumbar vertebrae. Wilson nodded his understanding and didn't flinch once the younger doctor began. "Now, I'm going to inject the local anesthetic into your spine. It'll probably sting a little, but we both know it's better than feeling the next needle." Chase was trying to lighten the mood, but in reality he was making Wilson sick to his stomach thinking about what was to come. He hissed when the drugs were injected. He hated that feeling. It was light someone was holding a torch to his spine. House tightened his grip a little more.

"I don't have to tell you what's coming next. Just try to stay as still as possible," Foreman instructed. Wilson nodded his understanding. "Here goes."

Wilson bit his bottom lip as Foreman began inserting the needle. His body wanted to stiffen, but he resisted. It was slow going, and James started to shake visibly harder. Gruffly, he pulled one hand up to grip House's wrist, his nails digging painfully into the older man's skin. Something was wrong.

"Wilson? What is it? What's happening?" House ran his hand through the younger man's hair.

"My chest," he wheezed. "I can't…breathe…I…" Alarms began screaming around them, and Wilson started to panic. House and Cameron's hands held him still.

"Don't let him move!" Foreman yelled.

"The paralysis reached his lungs!" Cameron yelled back.

"He still has a needle in his spinal cord! Get some oxygen!" Foreman ordered. Cameron worked at lightning speed, rushing a portable oxygen unit to House then scrambling to call the code.

"Wilson! Wilson, look at me!" House commanded, using his right hand to direct the frightened man's gaze to him. Wilson was sucking in rapid, deep, futile breaths, barely fogging the oxygen mask with each pitiful exhale. "I know it hurts, but you've got to stay still. The needle is still in your spine. You've gotta hang in there a little longer until we can get it out. Do you understand?" He never stopped the caresses of his lover's hair. Wilson wheezed painfully, his eyes full of fear and begging Houses to help him.

"Hang on, Jimmy. Just a little longer. You can do this. Come on," House began chanting softly, not knowing what else he could do. He didn't care that the other three were seeing. He couldn't care less what they thought of him at that moment. Wilson could be dying. Again. And he wasn't sure he could fix it this time.

"What are you waiting for? An invitation? Get that out of him!" House shouted at Foreman, his patience dissipating to zero.

"You know it's not that simple, House! I'm almost through!" Foreman shouted back. This was getting ridiculous. Wilson was making piteous sounds in his throat now, the effort to breathe becoming more and more difficult with each passing second. House could see a slight bluish tinge forming on the sick man's lips. In an attempt to keep himself as calm as possible, House lowered his face to the top of James' head and began whispering again.

"Come on, Jimmy, stay with me. We've got this. I'm right here. Everything's gonna be fine. Do you understand me? Everything'll be all right."

"House!" Chase suddenly yelled. House's head shot up, and he turned his head to look at the Australian. Chase, however, was staring at Wilson. House moved his gaze downward to do the same.

"Son of a bitch! He's not breathing! Foreman, get that thing out of him now!" House commanded. He felt as if he might throw up. Wilson was still conscious, but he wasn't getting any air. The younger man was beyond terrified, staring up at House with desperate tears streaming down his cheeks. Oh God, he must be in hell.

"Almost there!" Foreman replied, sounding almost panicky himself.

"Now!" House screamed.

"I'm out!" Foreman announced, raising his arms above his head to show it was all clear.

"Get him on his back!" House instructed Chase. The blonde did as he was told, ripping the oxygen mask from Wilson's pale, discolored face.

House grabbed a breathing tube from its package as the other three worked around him. The alarms were still shrieking, making his head pound harder with each passing moment. Sprinting back to James' bed, House tilted his head back and slid the tube expertly into his lungs.

"Bag!" he yelled before he had even finished. Cameron was way ahead of him, standing ready with one in her hand. House had it attached in seconds and began pumping life giving oxygen into his lover's lungs. Looking down, he could see his own hands shaking from the fear and adrenaline. Damn. Whatever this was, it was winning. This couldn't be happening again. They had too much to look forward to. House hadn't even gotten to tell him that they were having twins. Wilson would have loved that. Wilson will love that! He had to believe that. Looking around the room, he knew he was the only one who did.

"Don't just stand there! Someone go and get me a respirator!" House demanded. Cameron started slightly then took a step to the side.

"It's right here," she told him, pulling the machine up behind her.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Thanks for reading, everyone! Sorry it took so long to update. I have no excuses, but I'll blame my excessive schoolwork anyway and stupid minor medical problems anyway:) Chapter 20 should come a lot sooner than this one! In it, we meet Wilson's parents and see more of House's soft side. Skippy!  



	20. Assault is Such a Strong Word

"Oh, good heavens!" House awoke five hours, thirty-nine minutes, and thirteen seconds after Wilson stopped breathing to the ear piercing sobs of Mrs. Rebecca Wilson. Damn. This was the last thing he needed right now. Don't get him wrong, he liked Mrs. Wilson. She was a good woman, but House was too tired and irritable to be comforting a terrified mother right then.

"Hi, Mrs. Wilson," House greeted tiredly, standing from his position next to Wilson's bed and subtly releasing the younger man's hand. "Mr. Wilson." House nodded to the tall, thin, gray-haired man standing in the doorway, relieved that he was there as well.

"Oh, Greg! Oh, honey!" Mrs. Wilson ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. Rebecca Wilson wasn't a tall woman, but she wasn't exactly short either. Wilson obviously got his height from his father. Rebecca wasn't fat by any means either, but she had a healthy amount of meat on her bones. House supposed the everyday person would refer to her as "average". He preferred the term "standard".

"What's happened? Lisa's message said he was sick, but it didn't tell us much," Rebecca said as she pulled away from their embrace but kept a hold of his forearms as she spoke.

"We're not sure what's wrong right now, but my team is working 'round the clock," House assured her. "They're close to the answer. We just have to narrow it down."

Mrs. Wilson opened her mouth to ask another question when House's pager went off. It was Cuddy. He didn't need to guess what she wanted to yell about.

"I've gotta take this. I'll give you a few moments with your son," he told them as he slowly slid away from Mrs. Wilson's grasp. She looked unsure, so he gave her a short grin as his only available offer of comfort. Nodding to Wilson's father as he exited, House made his way toward Cuddy's office.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" House announced six minutes and thirty-two seconds after he left the Wilson's alone.

"House, did you assault one of my nurses?" Cuddy ignored his comment.

"Assault is such a strong word –"

"You broke his nose in two places!" she interrupted.

"He had it coming," House continued nonchalantly, masking his underlying annoyance.

"_He had it coming? _Thank you for the explanation, House! That clears it all up!"

"You're welcome. It's a good explanation."

"I just spent four hours sitting in this office trying to convince him not to sue your ass then put you in jail, and the best defense you can give me is that _he deserved it_? What'd he do, talk bad about your shoes behind your back?"

"He was talking about Wilson! I heard that little prick laughing and cursing him for being with me! Wishing him _dead_! The man probably is dying! What would you expect me to do? Really. I wanna know. What would _you _have done?"

Cuddy hesitated, her intimidating demeanor beginning to falter.

"Are you being serious?" she asked. Her tone sounded skeptical, but she had no doubts he was telling the truth.

"Of course I'm being serious!" House continued, his frustration getting the better of him once again. "What motivation could I possibly have for making something like that up?"

"None, of course. I'm sorry," Cuddy gave in uncharacteristically. She knew she should do more, punish him somehow, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. He looked so pathetic standing there so hurt and sleep deprived. She wondered when he'd last eaten. It looked like it had been days. It seemed whatever was killing Wilson was beginning to take House with him.

"Can I go now? Wilson's parents are here," House sounded slightly calmer now. Cuddy nodded her consent.

"Here, take these with you," Lisa reached down to open the large drawer in the middle of her desk.

"What is it?" House questioned, leaning up on his tiptoes to try to get a better look.

"A video and pictures of the ultrasound," she explained, finding the aforementioned items and holding them out to him. "I had copies made for you."

House reached out somewhat tentatively and took them from her hands.

"Thanks," he said shortly, still slightly upset.

"Now go take care of our boy," she gave the best grin she could muster. House simply nodded before heading quickly out the door. As soon as he was out of earshot, Cuddy picked up her phone and dialed the newest number she had committed to memory.

"Mrs. House? It's Lisa Cuddy," she began. House wouldn't like this at all, but it wasn't as if she could get Wilson down here to make everything better.

Twenty-seven minutes and nineteen seconds after House left Cuddy's office, he sat at his and Wilson's usual table, staring at the blank walls of the nearly deserted cafeteria. He couldn't bring himself to go back to his lover's room. Not while Jimmy's parents were there. He had no idea what to say to them. He doubted Wilson had ever had the chance to tell them about their new…living arrangement, and House _really _did not want to be the one to break the news. Sure it wasn't exactly something you would normally lay on two people whose child had a very really chance of dying in the extremely near future, but House new his own personality. He'd give it away somehow, that much was obvious. Then things would be awkward, and it would all go downhill from there.

House gave a heavy, exhausted sigh. Lying spread out in on the table in front of him were Cuddy's ultrasound pictures. He couldn't get over how strange it was. He hadn't had sex with Cuddy since college, yet here, growing inside of her, were their children. And House was excited. Genuinely excited. All he wanted to do was to run and tell Wilson all about it – the only person he could talk to. But he couldn't because the man was once again lying in a damn hospital bed, wasting away while House stood by and watched helplessly.

And as terrible as it may sound, House found himself feeling angry – angry at the younger man for doing this to him. He was angry that he was in this situation; that Wilson was lying there sick and useless while House needed him here – well. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. There was so much happening, and House needed someone to share it with, but, instead of a smiling and ever-attentive face, all he got were closed eyelids and emotionless lips wrapped around a plastic tube.

Glancing up at the clock on the far wall, House saw that it was nearly time for lunch. That meant Wilson's parents would be kicked out soon for the nurses' regular exam. His first thought was he was glad he wasn't the one who had to inform Mr. and Mrs. Wilson of this. His second thought was that he had to pee. So, gathering his belongings, he stood and made his way to the nearest men's room.

Setting his things on the driest part of the sink, House strolled over to his usual spot, unzipped his fly, and began relieving himself. Looking to the side, House was overcome by the most ridiculous feeling of loneliness he had ever felt. This was really getting out of hand. Was he actually getting this empty feeling because he missed his "pee buddy" standing two urinals away? He really needed to get some sleep. Better yet, he needed to get back to Wilson. Zipping his fly back up, he washed his hands quickly, picked up his things, and headed for his best friend's room.

Three minutes and seven seconds later, House peered inconspicuously through the glass wall of Wilson's hospital room. To his relief, the only elderly person in sight was the nurse, and she appeared to be finishing up her work. Taking a deep breath, he strolled inside, dismissed the nurse, then stood by Wilson's side; staring down at the still, pale face of the usually vibrant younger man.

"Hey, Jimmy, I'm back. Sorry I was gone so long, but you know how I feel about parents. You're a patient, so yes even yours," House was grinning unconsciously as he spoke, but his smile quickly fell into a frown as he glanced at the monitors surrounding his lover's bed. Remembering the items he held in his hands, an idea sprang to his mind and he decided to run with it.

"Listen, it was Cuddy who paged me about an hour ago, but you probably figured that out already. She gave me a copy of the ultrasound video, and I thought you might like to hear something," House set about loading the room's standard VCR with his video and turning the television to the correct channel. Turning the volume up to its highest level, he pressed play. As he did so, the rhythmic tunes of his babies' heartbeats began to fill the silence. Each soft thud brought a shiver to House's skin.

"Hear that? That's our children, Jimmy. Mine, Cuddy's, and yours. Yep you heard right. Children. It's twins. We're having twins. I knew I was good, but damn! I didn't know I was _that _good." Just then, Wilson's eyes began to blink as he awoke from his drug-induced slumber.

"Hey, there you are," House gave another grin, intentional this time, as deep brown eyes squinted open to look up into his. "It's about time you came back to me. I was starting to talk to myself." Wilson simply stared back, looking dazed and very confused. "Listen, Jimmy, just hang in there a little while longer, all right? I know this sucks. It's no picnic for any of us either, but we're so close. Do you hear that? Our babies' hearts? If nothing else, that is what you've got to hang on for. I can't do it without you. I…I love you, James. Do you hear me? You have to remember that, okay?"

A solitary tear made its way down James' smooth cheek, curving slightly onto his chin, and dripped gracefully onto the pillow next to his head. House felt his heart drop into his stomach at the sight. Not knowing what else to do, House dipped his head and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the corner of Wilson's mouth, being careful to avoid the breathing tube. Wilson's eye's squeezed shut as he did so, more tears escaping silently as the soothing rhythm continued infinitely in the background. House placed another quick kiss there before pulling back, tears beginning to form in his own eyes. Letting out a sigh that could almost be mistaken for a sob, he rested his forehead on his lover's and stayed there. It was the only contact he could keep with the younger man that Wilson could still feel. As the beat in the background drifted away into static, the door flew open and House's team flew inside.

"House, we've got it! We know what's wrong with Wilson!"

* * *

**Sorry for the delay everyone, but, as usual, life interfered. But it is here nonetheless! I hope you enjoyed it! All your reviews are all wonderful and very encouraging! Keep 'em coming, and I'll be back ASAP! Thanks again, everyone:D**


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